


Avoir L'Air

by Yilena



Series: Avoir L'Air [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Swap, F/M, Fantasy, Minor Character Death, Personality Swap, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: When she'd embraced death, Marinette finds herself in a world opposite to hers; friends are hostile, and her tormentor has the sweetest smile and the best intentions. AU.





	1. 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rin and Rien are really similar and it took me a while to realise, my bad. I hope it's not too confusing. 
> 
> \- ̗̀art ̖́- [aoirin](http://aoirin.tumblr.com/post/174214937941).

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

There were black spots obscuring her vision, flickering and causing her sight to disappear completely every few seconds, and the harsh strain on her throat was painful, crushing, and she frantically clawed at the water—her mouth opened, wanting to scream, to shout about the crippling sensations, but all that came out were desperate bubbles, floating to the surface and muffling her shrieks.

“ _Rien_!” someone shouted, but it was smothered by her wavering consciousness.

Marinette tried to reach forward, wanting to grasp something to capture her grip so she could pull herself to safety, but a movement caught her by surprise. Swallowing more water by accident, choking, eyes stinging and lungs protesting with every passing second, she squirmed against the hand that was tangled in her hair, forcefully pushing her deeper, keeping her body underneath the water. There wasn't anything she could do; her limbs were growing tired, the lack of oxygen causing her consciousness to react. And as she desperately gasped for breaths, instead choking on the pool water, she wondered whether her last moments were worth it.

Had she been a good daughter?

They had never been there, but her motivation for her life thus far had been to prove herself worthy of their attention—but there she was, losing consciousness while being forcefully held under, the very hands that she'd come to despise being the cause of her distress.

“Rien— _please_!”

It was her friend's voice. Even muffled from the water, and the laughter that was surely from the rest of their class that was unaware of the situation, she could recognise the panicked trill of her sole comfort in her daily life. Marinette longed to respond, to rip the dreaded hands away that were keeping hold of her, but all she could manage was to weakly attempt to reach up to him before her consciousness wavered. It was a terrifying moment, and as the last bubble left her throat, she just wanted to know _why_.

What had she done to him? Nothing—she had done _nothing_! And he'd antagonised her for years, extending the occasional shove and other such movement for explicit violence out of the blue. He— _he_ was a being of pure hatred, and that had showed clearly when his hands first pushed her under.

It was an utter surprise when she became aware of pressure on her chest. Marinette attempted to heave in a breath, instead having air forcefully blown through her own mouth and causing her to splutter and begin to cough. The thrusts on her chest—wet, it was _cold—_ made a mixture of bile and water unpleasantly escape her lips, tainting the tiled floor beside her. She choked, trying to control her breathing as the body that had been performing on her pulled away and allowed her space.

“R _-Rin_!” a voice gasped, and footsteps sounded against the damp floor. “Fuck, _Rin_.”

Rin? There was no one there with that name—and she would know, it was only her class allowed within the swimming pool for the designated time. Marinette frantically wiped at her tear-stained face, throat dry and protesting from breathing desperately through her mouth, and cracked her swollen eyes open.

The faces were familiar, certainly, but the expressions were not. There were eyebrows furrowed in concern, lips bitten into and eyes wide and all staring down around her. Some were down on their knees, looking quite dramatic, and a few were holding onto each other for comfort. They—they'd _noticed_ that she'd almost drowned, and the sympathetic concerns were not common, not at all. When she was tripped over, most laughed at her clumsiness, or scoffed and snapped for her to be careful. There was barely any genuinely positive feelings, and just seeing them— _them_ , almost all of the class—gazing at her in worry was disconcerting.

Marinette wetted her lips, shivering from her attire.

The same voice called softly, “Rin?”

They were looking at her.

That wasn't her name. Her class-mates referred to her by her surname or her full first name—it was Dupain-Cheng or Marinette, always. Only her best friend shortened her name out of fondness, and it wasn't at all to what they were uttering. So, with wide and confused eyes, Marinette's gaze flickered between each of the students in front of her, trying to determine what was wrong.

She spotted the first difference instantly.

Ivan Bruel, the gaunt-looking weedy male who had sparse black-coloured hair that stuck up in tufts, was standing there clad in a tight black t-shirt along with his swimming shorts; except, it wasn't quite the Ivan that she could remember. It wasn't the jubilant boy who threw up in the bathroom after break, or openly discussed his eating disorder and his sessions with the school nurse. No, it definitely wasn't. The male before her was wide, with broad shoulders, and a surly expression that didn't look quite right on his face. He was taller, too, towering above most of the class.

Marinette's chin wobbled from trying not to burst into hysterical laughter, but all that came out was a muffled gasp and her throat aching just from that alone. She clawed at her damp knees, feeling the naked flesh with her clammy hands, and panicking from the attention that was put on her. With her teeth clattering, she looked down to inspect her attire and sucked in a sharp breath when she realised she wasn't glad in the same outfit any longer.

The one-piece swimsuit was missing. Instead, she was clad in a spotted pale pink-coloured bikini with lace around the cups of her breasts. Marinette's shaking hand slowly moved up to touch her neck, searching for any proof of the attack of any old wounds that would remind her of her time, but she came into contact with a drenched plait.

There was pressured placed lightly around her shoulders, and she jumped and stilled from shock instantly. A blanket was wrapped around her, the material itchy but welcoming nonetheless, and a new voice murmured, “Rin? Are you okay?”

She'd know that voice anywhere. The whispered words were usually paired with a sickening grin, one that promised some sort of villainous act later on, and despite the crowd in front of them, he never usually cared. Marinette's nails clawed into the fabric of the blanket as she panicked, attempting to scurry away across the wet tiles and almost following over in the process. Turning around as he pushed herself away with her tired legs, Marinette propelled herself with her hands, desperately wanting distance between the two of them. He'd sounded close; right behind her, whispering words in her vulnerable ear.

“R-Rin?” he questioned, and the sheer concern in his voice caused shivers of terror to appear.

From her panic she fell to the ground once when she'd started to run, but soon recovered and ran clumsily across the tiled floor, ignoring the shouts of the foreign name and darting towards the designated changing room after glancing back once to confirmed for suspicions. The design hadn't changed, just the people within had, somehow.

Rien had been there, clad in swimming shorts and no shirt, a halo of golden-coloured hair damp and framing his face despite sticking to his skin in what should've been an attractive way. He projected an innocent appearance when his lips weren't curled into a malicious smirk, and the light emerald of his irides had stood out as he stared at her—shocked, worried, _concerned—_ and her heartbeat had stuttered in terror and pleaded for her to _flee_.

It had to have been a delusion. Her suffering at the hands of Rien had caused her to hallucinate, her sheer desire to want to be liked by her peers appearing from her subconsciousness and causing the strange hallucination to appear.

The room was the same, but the bags were not. Marinette went to run a hand through her hair, coming into contact with the dampened braid once again and furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. Her hair had been short, fluttering around her collarbones freely. It hadn't been long since she was a child, long before her parents had been wholly occupied with work and no longer available to spend their free time doting on her and brushing her luscious hair. It was a thing of a past—was that why she'd caused it to appear? Another deep want showing in a strange way?

Dragging her fatigued body across to the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror. It was roughly the same; the dark-coloured hair that came with her half-Asian heritage was long, falling just below her average-sized breasts, and the exotic curve of her eyelids had smeared make-up across the skin, making her appear tired and more tragic that she felt. The cerulean irides she'd inherited from her father were still there, as was her plump lower lip and slightly upturned nose. It was a face she was familiar with, and then was not.

Her earlobes were pierced once with tiny diamonds that shined brightly catching her attention. There was scarlet streaked beside her mouth, too, indicating that she'd worn more make-up than simply on her eyes.

“I—” Marinette choked out, breaking off as her lips trembled.

If it was a dream, she wanted to wake up.

The sound of the door opening behind her caused her to jump, fright and shock written clearly across her expression as she turned around with wide eyes to see who had followed her. “C-Césaire?” the dark-haired female gasped, disbelieving.

The female before her had differences than she remembered. For one, her dark eyebrows were knitted together in concern, lips curled into a frown without anger in her expression. The Alya that she knew was ostentatious, snappy, and relentlessly rude if given the chance, and had dark red-coloured hair that hung straight by her shoulders. Instead, her hair was long and curly, boisterous in volume, and showed no restrain within the ringlets and looked beautiful against her tanned skin. She padded forward, clad in a maroon bikini that was quite modest and _not_ what she was wearing previously, and Marinette stumbled back, coming into contact with the cool tiles of the wall.

“Rin?” she queried, looking at her as though she was a frightened animal. “Are you all right?”

She wasn't _Rin_! The Alya she knew made fun of her bruises, cursed when they were paired together in class, and certainly wasn't caring enough to venture into the changing room to enquire about her mental health. Making a noise of protest, Marinette raised a hand to grip her hair, tugging at the roots and feeling the pain that was offered from the movement. There was no use trying to wake herself up from the sensations; it simply wasn't working.

Her eyes stung, the back of her throat prickling, too, as she realised she'd have to continue with the torture her subconscious had conjured.

Alya cleared her throat. “Do you want me to get the teacher? I—I thought you'd want to be alone for a bit.” When Marinette made no move to reply, simply clutching a hand to her head with a wild expression, the red-head took a cautious step forward. “Did you hurt your head earlier? Is that it?”

No, she'd been drowned, actually. She hadn't thought to thank whoever had done the emergency action on her, never catching who had performed it because of the sudden shock and the slight mental breakdown. And yet, she pondered why she'd choose to create the differences in the world if some things were going to be the same. Her usual teacher was constantly busy, attempting to manage other work while on the job and therefore not paying attention to the students, and that was surely why the accident had happened in the first place. But, there was a difference.

No one was shouting at Rien for his actions.

“Why did you go in if you can't swim, Rin?” Alya questioned, voice contorted with pain briefly. “I-I know we're not close but—you stopped _breathing_.”

They weren't close, not at all. The female before her was one of the ones that she disliked the most; she was the closest friend of the opposite gender that Rien had, and perhaps that had translated into this world, too. The most problematic thing that she'd stated was that she couldn't swim—but Marinette could. A noise of distress passed her lips, and Marinette tugged on her hair more, bubbling hysterical laughter soon escaping and echoing within the empty changing room. Her balance faltered, back sliding against the cool tiles as she slid down to sit on the floor, pressing her forehead into her knees and firmly squeezing her eyes shut. She could accept her fate if she'd died, but being placed in such a nightmare for an unknown amount of time was causing her breathing to pick up, and ragged breaths to fill up the silence.

And then there was the red-head was in front of her, crouching down on the damp floor and reaching out for her with a confused expression. Marinette flinched, huddling further into a ball of security and shutting her eyes once again.

Alya didn't try and touch her again. “Just take it easy, okay? I'll call your mother to come pick you up, but it might take a while. I'll have to get the number off of the teacher.” And with those words, the red-head padded away with her footsteps taking up the silence of the room, and she was left alone, shivering, and close to hyperventilating.

Her mother would never have a schedule free enough to collect her from school. When she fell ill during her education time, her parents could never break away from the hospital to care for her. She had become accustomed to doing everything for herself, and hearing that someone was concerned enough to attempt to contact them was confusing. In her previous life—if it could even be considered that—the principal had been given a note to not disturb them during their work, and that had never been breached.

The blanket had been forgotten by the pool, and her skin had bumps and shivers coursing through her by the time that students began to pour into the changing room. Marinette was still propped against the wall, glancing up from her shaking knees every few moments to observe the familiar faces before her.

There were changes, that was for sure. If she had thought the difference in Ivan had been extreme, then she wasn't quite right there. Females that had short hair or faces pinched in irritation most of the time had the opposite here—some with different hair colours completely—and when Alya trailed back in with a tall, pale girl, it took her a few moments of blinking her bright blue eyes in confusion before realising who it was before her.

Juleka Couffaine. She had always been tall and pale-skinned, but the long black hair that had bangs cut and covering one of her beautiful hazel-coloured eyes was a new style. The Juleka that she knew—or, rather; the one that she looked at from afar as she was indifferent to her surroundings—was a bubbly girl that smiled beautifully and showed her dancing skills whenever the opportunity arose (especially around her boyfriend). Instead, the dark-haired smile was smiling tentatively, an uncertain expression flashing across her face, and holding the itchy blanket out in front of her, offering it without verbally announcing it.

“Your mother said she'll be here in ten minutes, Rin,” Alya announced, taking the fabric from the other's hands when Marinette made no move to retrieve it. She kneeled down, an encouraging smile on her lips, and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders before pulling back and attempting to make eye contact. “Do you want me to wait with you?”

Her mother was coming—her _mother_. She hadn't seen her for over a week, apart from a glimpse before she disappeared through the front door one evening. Marinette made her own meals, sometimes leaving some for her parents, too, after their shifts, and hadn't sat down for a meal with her parents outside of special occasions or birthdays for months. But her mother was coming because Alya called.

Clutching at the fabric and pulling it closer around her, Marinette averted her eyes. The class-mates around her were busy getting dressed into their clothing, chattering away apart from the glances that were sent her way.

It seemed that Rin had no friends; that was her conclusion from no one apart from the red-head coming forward in an attempt to comfort her.

A chill ran down her shiver spine. What if she was different here, too? Had she taken the place of her opposite—was Rin her nasty counterpart, and had somehow been replaced by her? She had no evidence, though. Rin could've been a wonderful person, but the fact that they looked alike and seemed to share the same world, that was tipped upside down at that moment, was alarming.

They had been on a school trip. It was the last day before the extended holiday before the next year of education, and there had been a poll taken to decide what they'd do with their time. She and her best friend, the comfort of her days and the one that had been pleading with her tormentor to stop, had been wading through the water and attempting to enjoy their time before they were parted for the holiday.

“C-Chloé?” Marinette whispered, catching the red-head's eyes with a pleading expression. She was trying to convey her want for her friend, to see whether she was around.

Alya blinked, knitting her eyebrows together. “She didn't come today, remember? Not a fan of chlorine in her hair.”

Her face fell, forehead pressing against her knees as she processed the information. Her friend had been right there, shouting for her, but now she hadn't even been present for the trip that day. And— _chlorine_ in her hair? The Chloé she knew didn't care about appearances! It was another difference, the most heart-wrenching so far, and the maniacal laughter spilled from her lips, with no sign of holding back any more.

Pain and torture had brought her into this world, had it not? Paying no regards to the confused looks sent her way, a smile spread across Marinette's face, and she desperately clawed at the bare, cold skin of her shoulders, sinking her nails into the flesh. She felt the pain, the sensations shooting through her and causing a moan of protest to slip through, and she clenched her teeth together to stop from accidentally biting her tongue. Building up the courage to do so, Marinette pulled her head forward, taking in a shaking breath, before slamming it back against the tiles with a sickening crunch. Her vision was blurred momentarily, and it became apparent that there was blood within her mouth as she'd failed from stopping the wound there, and she hissed in pain and raised her body to repeat the motion.

“R-Rin!” someone shouted, eerily similar to the words that had first been said when she'd been resuscitated. “Fuck, _Rin_!”

Her consciousness wavered before she could hit herself for the third time—she was sure there was a wound, more scarlet liquid than the droplets falling from her lips and trailing down her chin, and she could only hope that the result would be one she was looking for.

-x-

It wasn't.

Marinette had been trapped in the strange world for weeks; when she'd awoken in a hospital, a bandage wrapped around her head, she'd blinked in shock before processing what had happened. It took days to come to terms with the changes, especially her ever-present parents that had different personalities, occupations, and were genuinely loving and caring people with similar facial features. It had been hard at first, but she soon played it off as memory problems. The doctor complied with her story, saying it was highly possible, and then she didn't have to smother the wide-eyed shock she felt whenever she saw something new.

Her mother, with her hooded eyelids and dark-coloured hair that hung nicely by her jaw, was doting and kind. It was everything she had been looking for. Her father was much the same; still broad shouldered, with tufts of brown hair and bright cerulean eyes that stood out nicely because of his slight facial hair. They weren't doctors in this world, though.

The two-story home that they lived in had changed. The bottom floor had been converted into a pâtisserie, a successful one at that, and the second contained their living area, and there was a small room which was usually classed as a loft that was used as Rin's bedroom. It was the same layout as her old home, but filled with details and furnishings that made it quite lived in.

There were hot meals every day. Her parents were awake before her, preparing their business and making it so sweet scents wafted through the streets surrounding them. They ran their fingers through her hair when they walked past, or hugged her briefly, and the affectionate actions had caused her throat to close up and eyes to grow hot for the first few times before she could control her surprise.

Because of the cover story; or, rather, the excuse that allowed her to gawk and act bewildered whenever she interacted with _anyone_ , Marinette was able to assess her life when she was released from the hospital. Rin's bedroom was pink-coloured, with a little seating area and rugs and trinkets that were wholly adorable and added to the charisma of the room, but there were no personal photographs. Her own had been cream-coloured, far too mature for her tender teenage age, and had a few framed photographs of her and Chloé or from her childhood when her parents had taken non-formal pictures.

Referring to her other self as Rin made it easier to comprehend what was happening. She treated her as a separate being, as she was not able to fully emphasise with her from the limited information. When she spoke soft questions or inserted manners in a quiet tone, never quite the one for long conversations, her parents had looked at her with a bewildered expression. Other than the doctors and nurses—along with the elderly man who occupied the bed beside hers—she hadn't had the chance to interact with anyone else. For weeks she stayed cooped within the confines of the apartment and her room, never venturing outside onto the balcony that held no privacy.

Rin was her age physically. She was fifteen, ready to enter her next year of education. When she found her recent test scores, which had been stashed away deep in the drawers of the pink-coloured desk in her room, it became clear that her counterpart didn't feel fond about studying. She was below-average, an underachiever that disrupted the class with groans and discouraging comments when she saw fit—the opposite of Marinette. Marinette had strived to achieve the highest scores despite the difficulties in her way (meaning, the bullies that always seemed to appear), and it was her way of attempting to get her parents to notice her, no matter how much that hadn't worked in the end.

Rin's parents were loving, fluttering around the apartment and the pâtisserie each day, and it was her counterpart that she hadn't appreciated it. It had taken Marinette over a week to stop tearing up from the affectionate touches, the whispered words of support for her condition, and when she noticed how carefree and snotty Rin was, it made her _mad_. Rin had everything that she wanted—she had her parents! Loving, kind, caring people that looked out for her, that shared the dinner table with her and spoke such warm words, and she didn't _care_.

“I-I love you both,” Marinette had stuttered over breakfast in the second week.

Her mother had stilled, juice dripping and continuing to pour at a slower rate, and looked at her with wide eyes. With lips curling into a wide and proud grin, she'd responded, “And I love you, too, little one.”

She made sure to repeat it everyday, slowly growing in confidence.

They never laughed at her affectionate words. Her father encouraged her, and her mother looked near misty-eyed at every confession.

When it came time for school to begin, she was a bundle of nerves. The last time she had seen them—the female side, at least—she'd been desperately injuring herself in an attempt to get away. Did they think she had a mental breakdown? Were there rumours about what had happened, and were they spiralled out of control? Marinette's hands were shaking as she brushed her hair, happy that she'd cut the long strands to sway by her collarbones in a familiar cut, with the short bangs that brushed her dark eyebrows. Rin had been into make-up—an aspiring make-up artist—and Marinette had never experimented with cosmetics. Therefore, she stayed away from the copious boxes full of the products, and chose to stick to the what she knew, being bare with her favourite haircut.

Along with the decorations across the bedroom, her counterpart had a larger wardrobe that was filled with all sorts of outfits. There were mature dresses, cute ones with bows, more than a few floaty skirts, and shirts and other such things that she would've never associated herself with. Marinette had been a creature of comfort, sticking to warm trousers and familiar t-shirts and sweaters that she'd worn in wonderfully, but Rin was a stylish being. Her wardrobe oozed fashion sense, and she found that she didn't hate the clothes as much as she'd thought (as there wasn't much that showed cleavage or was outrageously short).

So, Marinette dressed herself in a warm patterned t-shirt with a denim dress upon the stop that came to just above her knees, choosing from a larger selection of socks than she thought possible, and shoes that were comfortable and flat. It was the best she could hope for with her limited fashion sense as it was, and she wasn't quite sure what Rin usually wore to school.

There had been a few problems with her new life, however. There was a code to type into Rin's cell phone to unlock it, and the computer had much the same on it, too. She'd been unable to guess the cell phone's one and was limited to five every few hours, but the computer had a guest option to use, so she had to resort to that. It had only a few programs and limited access, but it had to do for the time being.

Naturally, Rin didn't have a diary. Marinette had opened an empty notepad, that was covered in a squishy material that was fun to touch, that had been tired with a ribbon and decided to use it as a journal. It was a means to write down her problems, to vent about her confusion, and convince herself that she was _living_. She wrote about her past life, the abuse and loneliness she felt, and crafted images of her previous encounters and the fun times with her best friend. Tears had welled up a few times during the process, but it was something that she had to do. If she were to forget all that had happened in the first place, it wouldn't have been fair—not to her, nor to Rin who she'd replaced. It was to prove that it wasn't her imagination mocking her, no matter how distant it felt at times.

The life she was living wasn't hers. She had to remember that. She was walking around tentatively on borrowed time, waiting for the upcoming moment where she'd be ripped away, back into the pool and drowning by the hands of the male she despised the most.

She hadn't always despised him, though.

They had been friends once. Before puberty, prior to puberty, and before his father had passed away and his mother had entered another marriage. He had grown bitter, distant for a year before he transferred into her class after an absence. He had appeared, and she'd smiled in hope when they first saw each other in the classroom, but his expression had twisted into a grimace. And if that wasn't the first warning sign, then she didn't know what was.

He had been Chloé's step-brother. Would he still be?

“Chloé's not my friend,” she reminded herself, staring sadly into her reflection.

The image looking back at her was beginning to look like the Marinette of her world. Rin's body was healthier, from the balanced meals that were provided and not cooked by a young girl, and her chest was slightly more ample. Their height was the same, skin sharing a similar pale colour, and the haircut had definitely helped make her begin to feel normal again. But when she took in the pink-coloured walls, sniffed in the sweet-scented air that was all around, she knew that it would never quite be the same.

She slapped her cheeks, narrowing her eyes in the mirror. “No,” Marinette murmured, shaking her head. “This is a new chance.”

The people were not the same that she knew. She needed to tread carefully, take note of each and every conversation and determine whether they were a threat to her or not. Rin had been an aggressive individual; she'd picked fights in classrooms, interrupted the teachers at times, and that was what she was certainly not going to do. There was no point trying to blend in—she didn't want to be Rin. Her counterpart was an example of the type of people that she loathed; the rude, quick tempered ones that didn't understand the weight of their words.

Her father kissed her forehead, and her mother embraced her tightly and whispered words of encouragement. They explained that the school had been informed of her condition, and that they'd been warned that she might not be able to remember everything. Marinette kept her lips shut, simply nodding and playing along with the conversation. She wasn't going to point out that she was smarter than Rin, or that she'd recognise the faces already—she needed to play along with the amnesia if she didn't want her class-mates to stare at her as though she were an exhibit in a zoo. They warned her that her teacher would have to announce it to the class, so they knew not to tease or taunt her because of the outcome.

“If it ever gets too much for you, Marinette,” her father said, leaning down as running his fingers through her hair. “You are always welcome home.”

They had never called her Rin, and she was grateful for that. It was closer to become affectionate with them because of that detail, and that was what she had longed for for the longest time. With cheeks tinged pink, Marinette nodded, accepting the loving words and departed on her way to school for the day.

The cell phone she couldn't unlock was in her white-coloured bag, and there was a small map that was drawn crudely on a piece of paper by her father in her hands. It was wrinkled and slightly damp from her clammy hands, and as she crossed a busy street with tentative steps, she made sure to check the street names to what was written down. There was differences in buildings, shops, and even benches that were scattered around, but the general style or shape of each street hadn't changed quite that much. She was able to recognise where she was going, and when she noticed a a small group of students huddled together and walking in the right direction, she folded the map and placed it away in one of her bag's pockets. With quiet footsteps, she followed after them while attempting to decipher their identities.

The group contained a single female with crudely dyed pink-coloured hair, with a half-hearted ponytail holding half of the bright tresses, and a tall male that had straight tufts of black hair and slightly tanned skin. The last was a dark-skinned male with curly black hair, one that she could recognise because of his race from behind—Max Kanté. He had been a short male with broad shoulders and muscles that were overly developed for his age, but the male before her was slim—still small—with no sporting attire on.

Gripping onto the strap of her bag with one clenched hand, Marinette crossed through the gates of the school, eyes darting around nervously to see the chattering students that weren't paying attention to the passers-by. Her legs were shaking as she ascended the steps, palms growing clammy by the time she'd stopped in front of the classroom door, and she stood still, staring at the stained wood while biting her lip.

Chloé was not her friend, and Rin didn't have any. There would be no one to seek comfort from, and that alone caused her stomach to twist from nerves. How would her class-mates react to her? Were they expecting her to make nasty remarks under her breath, to attempt to cause them distress and discomfort?

She felt nauseated. The nerves were piling up, fluttering around in her stomach and pressing against the lining and begging her to vomit, to expel the negative feelings from her body and start fresh. Her body felt cold, bumps appearing across her bare arms and she shivered, a hand reaching to hold her mouth in an attempt to keep the feelings at bay. Her tongue felt fuzzy as she swallowed, lips quivering from trying not to—

“Rin?”

Turning around quickly, back connecting with the door, Marinette's muscles tensed and her eyes widened as she stared at the one who'd approached behind her. She hadn't heard the footsteps, too occupied with her heavy pulse within her head, and that was one of the main reasons for the horror that flashed across her expression.

Rien, with his golden hair styled perfectly, wearing dark-washed jeans that fit snugly and a long-sleeved t-shirt that contrasted with his skin, making him look wholly innocent and not at all intimidating. His eyebrows were knitted together, concern clearly showing, but all she could see was how his lips could curl into a sinister smirk, how his hands could cause such pain, and how he could ignore his step-sister to inflict her _pain_ —

Her throat felt hot, and she leaned forward in time to splutter and cough, liquid splattering across the tiled floor and his pristine shoes. The pungent smell hit her nostrils and she heaved, the remainder of the contents of her stomach splashing onto the floor. Her eyes stung, liquid seeping from her nose from the action, and she frantically wiped at her mouth and backed away with undisguised terror within her expression.

Without giving him the chance to reply, she sprinted into the nearest toilet.

The shaking of her hands had disappeared after a good half an hour had passed, much like the nerves that had kept her stomach churning uncomfortably. Instead, she was left with a terrified expression and a throat that couldn't be quenched despite how much water she tried to drink with her hands from the tap.

“He's not the same,” Marinette told herself, leaning against the cool mirror. “No one is.”

It was her mantra, and she repeated it until her mouth was dry. It was the vital piece of information that she needed to keep saying until it really sunk it, and it _had_ to—she couldn't be scared of everyone from her past when in this world, it was most likely her counterpart that was the terroriser.

Classes had already started. Marinette trudged through the hallway, cheeks wet from the water she'd splashed in hopes of calming down, and she noticed that the floor was clean from her earlier incident. It had taken her a lot of encouraging talks in the mirror to work up the courage to come, and as she adamantly refused to look within the windows and look at the class before she was ready, Marinette knocked on the wood and waited for the teacher to waltz over to see who it was.

She stared at her feet for the introductory speech. The teacher explained that she had suffered an accident and mentioned her foggy memory, and there were hums of acknowledge from the class, and a few muffled comments that she couldn't quite catch. She was directed with a wave of the teacher's hand to a desk in the second row, and she slid into it and clutched her bag within her lap with clammy hands.

“I see you're okay, Rin.”

Peeking to see her desk-mate, she realised who the bouncy red curls belonged to quickly. With thick spectacles perched upon her nose, that certainly hadn't been there in her previous world, Alya was sat there with her dark eyebrows raised. The expression on her was guarded, cautious, and she quickly understood why; the red-head had been right in front of her when she'd began to laugh manically and attempt to smash her head open, after all.

Clearing her throat, she tentatively replied, “I prefer Marinette.”

“Do you?” Alya asked, looking at her critically.

She blinked, and murmured uncertainly, “I'm not sure who Rin is any more.”

By the smile that appeared across the red-head's lips, she assumed it was the right thing to say.

-x-

It was hard trying to adjust. Marinette blinked and stared wide-eyed most of the times when she was included in a conversation, and that was the most positive reaction she could muster up. Alya was kind, friendly, and generally wanted to get to know the new her; she was unsure whether Rin had terrorised her, but they simply didn't speak of her counterpart. There were hushed whispers, rumours floating around about the accident, but no one addressed them where she could hear clearly, or ask her straight to her face. So, the dark-haired female walked through life with cautious eyes and jumped at almost every loud noise—if someone dropped their books, she flinched, and when someone tripped over, she rushed over and tried to extend a helping hand to lift them up. It hadn't gone over well at first; they looked at her cautiously, surprise clear across their expressions, and it had taken weeks before someone other than Alya understood that she had changed, completely.

The bane of her previous existence was, indeed, still close to the red-head. Rien sat in front of her, and she had the pleasure of staring anxiously at the back of his head daily. When he turned around to talk with Alya, she averted her gaze and adamantly stared at her desk, shaking hands hidden underneath the desk and out of view. Her desk-mate never questioned her behaviour; she was friendly when they were alone, and quickly noticed that large groups of students caused her to stutter, freeze up, and panic altogether.

During the second week, after she'd began to settle into classes and quietly work and the teachers had taken note that it really wasn't false information about her personality change, Marinette had been scribbling maths equations upon her page when the other male—the tanned one—that sat in front of her turned around, the hat that had been upon his head gone and leaving his ebony, curly hair flat and sticking up oddly, and stared at her for a few minutes before clearing his throat.

Marinette's muscles tensed, memories of the same noise flashing in her mind—him, clearing his throat before making a scathing remark and walking away with his arm around his shy girlfriend, always taunting and making fun of her test scores, claiming that they wouldn't help anyone like her, that showing off would do nothing for her future. It was the usual drivel that escaped his mouth, and no matter the amount of times Chloé had hugged her closely and said to ignore them, the comments still stung.

“I'm Nino Lahiffe,” he introduced himself, voice soft as if he was talking to an animal, “it's nice to meet you.”

She didn't reply; simply staring at him with a confused expression before nodding and returning her attention to her work, but he had seemed pleased with himself nonetheless. It started a trend, though. Soon there were students introducing themselves to her within the classrooms, hallways, _outside_ , and even within the safety of her home, when they wandered in to buy from the selection of delicacies that were sold. They were mostly civil, curious, even, and treated her as though she'd snap and have a crying fit at any moment. From her misty-eyed stare she gave a few of them, they were closer to the truth than they knew.

Everything had changed. The relationships of her class-mates was completely different, and those that had been dating previously were not even friends at times. The only friendship that was still there was between Alya and Rien, but that was because of Nino in this world, it seemed. Previously Nino and Alya hadn't been friends at all; they'd clashed, constantly yelling at each other, especially when it concerned the male's girlfriend. And yet, from the shy glances that they sent each other in classes, she suspected that they shared feelings for each other in this one, and hadn't quite acted upon them yet. There were a few other crushes around the classroom, but none were dating as openly as the couples in her world had. A lot more were reserved, shy, and not open to publicly announcing their feelings.

When she first saw a familiar face waltz through the classroom door after a few weeks of absence, light blonde-coloured hair piled into a high ponytail, Marinette had gawked and let out a noise of surprise. She had healthy looking skin, make-up on that was perfectly applied (much how she thought Rin would've worn hers), and clothes that clung to her body wonderfully and accented her teenage figure. It was the opposite of the soft, kind-hearted Chloé she knew, and when the blonde opened her mouth and openly scoffed and made rude remarks, her heart _sank_ and her eyes prickled. Marinette furiously wiped at her welling eyes, willing herself to stop appearing so distraught and weak, and it quickly caught the attention of her desk-mate.

Alya's hand hovered by her shoulder, unsure whether her touch would offer any comfort. It was a gesture that was slowly appearing more often, and despite her attempts she never quite reached further to make contact. “Rin?” she called, uncertain.

“Marinette, please,” the dark-haired female responded, grimacing as her voice cracked. She rubbed her cold cheek, making sure there was no leaking moisture before hiding her hands underneath the desk again. The mistake had been uttered more than a few times, and with each call of the name she'd wince, making it known that she wasn't comfortable with it. “I'm fine.”

“Do you want to come over to my place after school?” the red-head questioned instead, tapping her fingertips against the desk lightly. “We can play some games, if you want.”

The invitation was a surprise. Marinette blinked, gaze flickering between her desk-mate and the two males in front of them—they were friends, after all, and she wasn't expecting Alya to make time to simply be alone with her. Alya caught onto the hidden meaning and nodded, indicating that they would be coming, too, and she rapidly shook her head in denial and refused to look up, denying herself from looking at the enquiring looks that the two males in front were sending her way.

Rien wasn't the same. For one, he went by his full name in this world; Adrien.

And Adrien was... nice, and that caused her to shoot suspicious glances during class when her work was done, and made her step out of the way within the hallways, and generally try not to be alone with him. He'd introduced himself again, proving that he'd kept his father's last name and was named Agreste rather than Bourgeois, and then smiled softly and went back to his work. He was a shy thing, she noticed; he spoke in timid tones to those he wasn't close with, and uttered jokes that made Nino laugh loudly during class, and occasionally hugged Alya to show his appreciation. It was like seeing the mirror image of her tormentor—when he smiled, it was genuine and kind, and when he was frustrated, he touched his neck in a self-conscious gesture and didn't use his fists. He hadn't made any rude remarks underneath his breath, and when someone irritated him, he simply frowned and didn't retort to start an argument. He was a kind being that fluttered around confrontation, avoiding it at all costs, and stuck close to his two friends.

His father had lived instead of his mother in this world. Gabriel Agreste had never married again, and instead lead an empire within the fashion industry as a famous designer, and his son modelled his collections and had created a flourishing career for himself before he had hit his teenage years. It turned out that the previous school year had been his first, as he'd been home-schooled by tutors before then, and that was why he was so distant with the rest of the class.

Alya had taken to whispering information about the students in her ear, trying to ease her into her new environment without scaring her with too many details straight away. She quickly learned to assume that each was almost the exact opposite to their counterparts, and that was helping her get through each day. When night came, she scribbled in her journal about the differences between each person, trying to recall her first time meeting them within her own world, and comparing the differences in their greetings and such. It was rapidly filling with precious information, and knowing that her parents could simply climb the stairs to her room and flick through the pages to read her secrets had her worrying and breaking a sweat. And so, Marinette hid the journal beneath her mattress, safely tucking it in each morning and checking for it when she came home from school.

When she received full marks for her first test, her father had appeared misty-eyed for a moment before pulling her into a tight hug. Her mother had been much the same, and cooked her favourite food for dinner that evening. When she continued to place her tests upon the countertop at home, waiting to see when they would glimpse and see the result, their excitement didn't falter. They were ecstatic, and it was the reaction she had always yearned for from her own parents—they praised her, whispering words of fondness with wide smiles, and mentioned how they'd bragged to their own parents when the time came.

Marinette had created a place for herself in the new world. She was a loner, certainly, but she was happier than she had ever been before. Despite feeling lonely at times, especially when she peeked to see the snooty expression across Chloé's face, the affection and warmth she received at home made up for the lack of her best friend. There was no one tripping her over in the hallway, and the population of the school treated her as a wounded animal, still, treading cautiously as if to not set her off at any moment. She didn't correct them, to say she was fine and that the concern was unnecessary, and simply focused on her studies as she always did.

It had been three months when Alya tried again to persuade her to spend time with her after school.

“Marinette,” she started, smiling brightly. “Do you want to have dinner at mine? My mother wants to meet you.”

And with those words, the dark-haired female knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. Her gaze went to the two males in front of them, meaning clear once again, and when Alya shook her head with the same smile upon her lips, she found herself nodding, accepting the invite tentatively. Even though she was _okay_ being alone, it didn't mean that it wasn't weighing on her. She missed the kinship she'd had with Chloé, the fond comments they'd mutter to each other, or the mere fact that they used to study in the library during their lunch breaks. She was never going to find another friend to replace her, but having a relationship that was even a tiny bit similar to it would be a blessing.

There was still the problem of her cell phone. She could answer incoming calls, as they popped up past the code and allowed her to answer them, but she couldn't make her own ones or reply to messages. So, Marinette had to explain that she'd have to tell her parents in person first, but that seemed perfectly fine. Her mother was positively glowing when she said a class-mate had invited her over for dinner, and soon there was a small container of treats from the pâtisserie in her hands after she'd freshened up. Her white-coloured bag was left in her room, and she navigated through the streets before knocking tentatively on Alya's door.

It was nice. Alya's family was welcoming, never questioned her too much, and when the red-head pulled her forcefully into her bedroom to retreat, the conversation was light and amusing. There was no tension between them, and slowly, she began to flinch less when Alya suddenly exclaimed something loudly, and didn't shuffle away when they were closer than normal. They were almost friends, more than acquaintances, and she started to return the hushed conversations in the classroom. When Alya invited her over, she'd accept if it was clear that they would be alone.

Although she was friendly with her desk-mate, the same couldn't be said for the two in front of them. She had yet to timidly reply to Nino, and when Adrien turned around— _Adrien,_ not Rien—she still stared anywhere but at his kind face.

She swallowed, averting her eyes and repeating the mantra within her mind.

He was not Rien.

One day, when she'd been busy writing away on her piece of paper, she was called to attention by someone asking softly, “Can I borrow a pen?”

It took a few moments to realise that it was directed at her, not Alya. Marinette blinked up, surprise showing clearly across her expression, and she met his kind, emerald eyes which were looking at her gently, an easy smile across his lips. It was an utterly friendly expression, but she could still see it twisting, turning into a grimace or a smirk that promised pain and insults in the future—and so, she gulped, staring at him without answering.

He didn't look away. Adrien didn't look taken aback by her reaction; rather, from the encouraging curve of his lips, she supposed that he'd been prepared for this. He was testing the air, seeing whether she was still questionably scared by his appearance, and she couldn't deny it. And yet, despite the fact that she'd recoiled from him almost every time, and had thrown up upon his shoes (which he had never once complained about), she held his gaze with bated breath, willing herself not to show how afraid she was.

Rien had once been kind—when he was small, harmless, and before his father had passed away.

The male before her, with his almost there dimples showing from his smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, was not exuding hatred and annoyance. He was kind, making a small offer for friendship that was their first real interaction since he'd introduced himself, and since she'd reacted violently to seeing him outside of the classroom.

So, with her teeth biting into her lower lip, Marinette retrieved an extra pen from within her bright bag and reached out with visibly shaking hands, holding it up in an offering.

Adrien didn't gasp, nor did his expression turn smug or anything negative. Instead, his grin grew, showing the whites of his pristine teeth, and reaching his bright eyes as he tentatively reached and accepted the offered pen, making sure not to touch her shaking hand in the process.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and she stared, uncertain, as he turned around and began to do his work. And that was all there was to their conversation, but she clutched her shaking hands within her lap, teeth clenched together and gulped, trying to will the nerves to disappear. Their interaction had been harmless, really, but his appearance only still had this effect on her; one that was negative, quite embarrassing, and her cheeks burned as she narrowed her eyes down at her work.

Nino and Alya had been silent, not intruding on the brief conversation, and that alone was suspicious.

-x-

Her suspicious were confirmed a few weeks later. It had been almost subtle at first, so when Adrien turned around and quietly asked if he could borrow a pen the next week—when he hadn't even returned the _first—_ Marinette had blinked dumbly before complying with the request after staring at him for a few moments, to gauge whether he was serious. Their desk-mates were minding their own business, eyes looking everywhere but at their interaction, and her hand still shook as she passed over the pen.

He grinned, thanked her kindly, and went back to his work.

It happened the following week again, on the same day, and she _stared_.

Adrien's smile didn't falter, and he leaned to the side to show his empty desk and his need for said writing utensil. There was a muffled snort of laughter from Nino, who's shoulders were shaking as he refused to turn around to look at them, and the red-head beside her was busying herself by leaning over and fiddling with her bag. So, with cautious hands, Marinette handed over another pen and he was still careful to pluck it from her hand, not brushing her flesh with his fingers.

On the fourth week, Alya had burst into laughter and was called upon by the teacher. She was scolded, but that couldn't muffle all of her amusement. Alya had a wide smile as she returned to her work, not looking at the blond that was turned around in his seat with the friendly curve of his lips, or the incredulous expression that was across Marinette's face. He had _three_ of her pens, and still insisted on asking for more—it was always the same day, though he'd selected different lessons (probably so the teacher wouldn't catch on to his lack of pens and discipline him). Her hand still shook when she handed one over.

Alya and Nino knew what he was doing, and they were wholly supporting it. When classes were over for the day and Marinette had packed up her belongings, the first weekend day that she spent over at the red-head's house had resulted in her being given a pack of pens, being told to put them to good use.

When he asked for a pen, Marinette continued to hand one over.

They didn't speak more than that, and Alya didn't pressure her in private to. In passing, she mentioned her conversations that were amusing with the two males, but never attempted to convince her to be friends with them. Her expressions when she looked at the two in front of her were always a mixture of nervousness, surprise, or neutral. It was strange, really, but the extended amount of time she'd spent in the other world was beginning to feel like it was all she knew. It was passing, disappearing, and her journals were her comfort. She'd bought another one, having filled the previous and left it stashed beneath her mattress, and it was becoming filled with paragraphs of her day.

Over time, Adrien changed tactics. Marinette had met her red-headed friend outside of the school one morning, crossing their last street together while talking quietly about their prior evenings, and when they'd walked through the gates and past other groups of students, him and Nino were leaning against the entrance and chatting with themselves. Nino's expression had visibly brightened as he caught sight of the bespectacled female, and she knew from her quiet talks with Alya that they hadn't confessed their feelings for each other.

Alya smiled, a skip in her step and she shot forward and walked beside him, announcing that she'd see Marinette in class, not waiting for an answer before darting through the entrance and disappearing into the school.

She blinked.

Adrien had one hand within the pocket of his expensive trousers, that fit his body expertly as always, while the other was gripping the strap of his bag. He shrugged his shoulders as their eyes met, and walked forward to stand beside her. “Good morning, Marinette,” he greeted kindly.

It wasn't Rien.

Taking a step to the side to create distance between them, Marinette nodded in acknowledgement.

His grin grew, reaching his bright ever-green eyes and showing his barely there dimples upon his cheeks. They walked through the hallway without making conversation, and she fell behind a step to allow him to enter the classroom first. Her heart was pounding, palms sweaty, but he hadn't attempted anything; not even further conversation from the greeting, and that was _fine_. Their friends were seated inside already, talking over the desk and not being discreet at all at their not-so-subtle glances their way as they entered.

It happened daily after that. Alya would make an excuse, run off with Nino into the distance of the school, and Adrien would greet her with a tentative smile. And every week without fail, he'd request a pen in a different lesson each time, and she handed one over from her ever-growing amount that she kept within her bag.

She idly wondered where he kept them.

During their lunch one afternoon, Marinette was picking at her food while sat outside in the cold, brisk air. She'd had her lunches alone for quite a few months before Alya had invited herself over, leaving her duo of boys to fend for themselves during that time, and she'd never mentioned inviting them over, too. So it had become a quiet, private affair of them gnawing their food at a specific table outside, one that she was fond of as the other students had originally strayed away from going too far outside.

When she noticed that Alya hadn't murmured a thing since she'd sat down across from her, Marinette looked up from her food to gaze at her friend's expression. Confused, she realised that the red-head's eyes were trained elsewhere; rather than looking at her or the food on the table, she was gazing over Marinette's head into the distance, a smile tugging upon the corner of her lips and barely being restrained. Suspicious, Marinette peered over her shoulder and stilled when she caught sight of two figures that were close, close enough to hear their footsteps yet she hadn't, and waving sheepishly at her.

“Mind if we join you?” Nino asked, not waiting for a reply before settling into the seat beside Alya.

The table was small, a tiny little wooden one with quaint benches attached on either side, so the remaining seat for the remaining person was beside her. She had a chance to say _no_ , to stand up and disappear into the distance, but the thoughts of how kind Alya had been, leaving her friends without ever asking if they could join, too, just to give her a sense of comfort. With held breath, Marinette looked up to meet Adrien's eyes, noticing that he hadn't moved from behind her. He was there, standing, waiting for a reply curiously with his eyes flickering to the empty bench with clear intent.

She wetted her lips.

“Okay,” Marinette murmured.

A bright smile appeared on his face, making him appear angelic and showed the reason why companies fought to have him as their model, and his dimples were clear to see as he settled into the seat beside her.

Alya was grinning, much like Nino. They shared knowing looks, and Marinette narrowed her eyes at her friend across the table. Making sure their was adequate distance between them, Marinette shuffled over slightly before picking at her food once more. When the conversation started, she kept to herself, but the two didn't ignore her or Adrien like they did in the mornings, or during the pen exchanges; Nino actively attempted to coerce her into their talks, while Alya kept questioning the blond instead.

After that, Adrien and Nino joined them for lunches outside when it was sunny (Adrien had to look out for his health, the tanned male had explained to Alya loudly when he was absent once when it was raining), and it had taken some time for her to open up more than she had in the past. She spoke softly at first, laughing under her breath at jokes that either of the males had uttered, and when she and Alya were alone and in private, the red-haired female would pull her into a hug and say that she was doing _great—_ and never explained what at, not pushing the subject any further. Comments on her budding friendships with the two that occupied the desk in front spread through the classroom, and there were calls for them to be _quiet_ during lessons at times because Alya had gotten too rowdy, or Adrien couldn't control his laughter after telling a particularly bad joke.

When Rien was younger, when other males were in the phase of thinking the opposite gender had germs, he had been accepting and kind to Marinette. They had spied each other at a playground that was near to her home, where she'd wonder off to when her parents were busy and not looking, and it had taken a few weeks until they'd spoken to each other at all. He'd often play with the other boys, pushing the over at times, but when he saw her laughing under her breath at their antics, he began to notice her. His cheeks had puffed out with air, an angry expression for a child, and he'd stomped over and _demanded_ to know what was so funny, and she'd laughed happily even more because he simply wasn't threatening with the halo of golden hair on his head, nor the fancy clothes that were on his body. He'd tried to push her over—a warning sign, one she'd been too young to understand—and failed, and she'd twisted the situation and instead wormed her way out of his grip and he'd ended up on the floor, and she'd _laughed_ and laughed, delighted from his incredulous expression.

Their relationship hadn't been healthy, she knew that. They had been in different classes growing up, only spying each other outside in their free time, but they'd gotten along somewhat well when that time came.

And then, his father had died and he'd been withdrawn from school. She'd lost her friend for a year, only hearing whispers of the happenings within his family and not quite understanding from her young age, and she'd grown accustomed to being lonely during her breaks. She sought comfort in her studies, wanting to proudly wave a test score or announce she was the best at spelling in her class, just so her ever-busy parents would smile warmly and her, and perhaps pet her hair if she did particularly well. But it hadn't turned out that way at all—a year passed, a lonely time, and when he returned and transferred into her class, he wasn't alone.

His mother had married, and he had a tiny step-sister beside him, who's soft blue eyes were downcast and gazing at her feet.

And then, it had started. The rude remarks, the pushes that she couldn't regain her balance from or move swiftly enough out of the way, and when other students began to follow his lead, she realised a daunting fact—he hadn't changed that much, not really, she had simply been looking for something that hadn't been there. The weak Rien, the one that couldn't push her over, had been the one she was fond of, not knowing that his actions had always had mean intentions behind them. He hadn't been strong enough to fully commit to his plans, but that had changed. With the introduction of his step-sister, a blonde-haired girl who flinched and was quiet during class, Rien came out of his shell and spread his wings, becoming popular within the circle of the students. As the years passed, his followers grew; they only made rude remarks, or tripped her over to laugh from the failure, but never ventured further. She had never been shoved down the stairs, had burning liquid poured on her skin, or anything else that was that heinous. It had been petty crimes that were present in most classrooms—only they were all directed at her—before it had escalated.

Thinking back to how she came to be in the new world, Marinette had decided that he hadn't set out to drown her. It was a rare opportunity, one that could've been mistaken for playing around in the water, and she supposed he wanted to keep her head underneath until she spluttered and coughed for fun.

Adrien was nothing like him. The male before her, who's eyes often shined in happiness and his dimples showed more often than not to show the sincerity of his smiles, had only lifted his fists to lightly punch his friend in the arm once or twice. He had never done the same to Alya, only embracing her on the rare occasion, and he often touched his neck self-consciously when talking to the other students in the class. He was an awkward thing that wasn't too sure how to express his feelings, found it hard to reach out in friendship, and he had done _nothing_ to her—that was the main thing, and combined with the silly jokes that came out of his mouth, often muttered under his breath in the classroom, it had made her slowly grow fond of him.

By the time her hands stopped shaking when she handed him a pen, it had been over half a year. And yet, their exchanges were still soft-spoken, but more than one worded like they had started out from her. Marinette could laugh happily at his jokes without recoiling in premature terror, and when they walked through the school gates together her stomach didn't churn uncomfortably and she didn't take a step away. When they sat beside each other, eating their lunch and enjoying the passing breeze, she didn't scoot along to the edge to distance herself.

She felt like she was home.

-x-

It was their last week of education for their grade, the day before the trip that the teacher had planned, when Adrien's actions caused her to look at him in suspicion. She'd sat through the lessons in her same seat, a second pen placed neatly beside her paper and waiting for him to turn around and ask for it. Even though she'd noticed months ago that he'd slip his own up his shirt sleeve, or discreetly drop it on the floor, she never questioned his motivation. Their small interaction had become a tradition that she was quite fond of, and as time passed and their last lesson of the day she started, Marinette rolled the spare around in her fingers, fiddling with it.

He hadn't turned around.

Marinette stared at the back of his head, noticing that he'd cut his hair as the golden strands were swaying against his shirt any longer, and the strands of his fringe were almost on level with the tips of his ears that often grew red when he was embarrassed. She tapped the lid against the desk, chin propped upon her open palm and tuned the teacher's speech out.

Her grades had been the top of the class since she'd came to—the principal had expressed their disbelief to her parents at first, and they'd backed her up and proved that she wasn't cheating straight away. The support was warming, and after that there wasn't any questions about the legitimacy of her grades. Through passing comments it was usually revealed what the other students had as their average results, but the only way she'd found out about Adrien's had been by peering to look over his shoulder, or when he leaned over to talk to Nino quietly. It shouldn't have been a surprise that he was smart—Rien hadn't been too bright, after all—so finding out that he was only just behind her, barely by one or two questions most of the time, was strangely unsettling at first. Whereas her grades had been for her parents at first, she strived to beat him, too, before deciding that they were for _her—_ to help secure a future in the world she was thrust into.

Gnawing on her lower lip, her eyes travelled to the large clock at the front of the room. There was ten minutes left to their lesson, to the end of the school day, yet he hadn't requested what she'd expected. She knew that it would have to stop eventually—he'd taken more than a few bags of pens from her at that point—yet it didn't stop the pang of disappoint and the curve of the frown on her lips.

She'd been looking forward to it.

When they were dismissed, after she'd packed away her possessions apart from the pen that she'd planned to pass over to him, Marinette worked up the courage to lean forward and tap him lightly on the shoulder. Alya scurried past her, darting out of the door to catch up to the male she still hadn't asked to date her, and the rest of the students poured out of the classroom eagerly.

He turned around to look at her, expression visibly surprised, and their distance was closer than she'd suspected. With her arms leaning on the table still, buttocks slightly out of the chair as her weight was on the desk, Marinette blinked from their proximity and quickly settled down into her seat with a flush across her cheeks.

He cleared his throat. “Marinette?”

“I—” Marinette started, biting her lower lip and averting her gaze from embarrassment. “You didn't ask for a pen.” She reached to collect the pen from the desk, hand hovering above it before she withdrew and played with her fingers nervously on her lap.

“You're right,” Adrien mused, body slanted from leaning down to reach his bag. It was placed on his lap, his body twisted in an attempt to still see her and therefore showing the side of his face as he searched through the designer bag (that was surely as expensive as the rest of his clothing). “I finally remembered to bring one today,” he said, lips twitching as he tried not to laugh.

She blinked.

If he collected them, then he probably had a drawer full at his home. She wasn't too sure, though, as although they were friendly at school, she hadn't ventured into meeting him, or Nino, outside of education hours. “That took a while,” she replied instead, not attempting to hide her amusement. She fiddled with the pen, rolling in upon her fingertips and spinning it on the desk occasionally, eyes peering down to watch her ministrations. “I guess you don't need me any more.”

Adrien smiled then, showing his teeth as he released a breath of amusement. “I thought we could change things around, actually,” the blond announced, shifting her attention to the bag upon his lap as his hand moved through his possessions. Furrowing his eyebrows, he reached throughout the material, murmuring for her to wait a moment while he was busy. Marinette settled back into her seat, connecting her buttocks with the chair, and waited patiently.

When he pulled his hand up, the clearly smug smile that appeared caused her to stifle laughter. Between his fingers was an obvious white stick with a brightly-coloured wrapper around the circular top, and he was gesturing towards her with it, so she tilted her head slightly, questioning silently whether he was teasing or if he genuinely wanted to give the sweet to her.

They hadn't exchanged gifts of any sort other than the pens; Adrien didn't share the lunch that was specifically made for him, and Marinette treasured her own food that had been lovingly made by her parents. Only Nino and Alya gave out food at times in their makeshift group.

“A thank you for all the pens,” he started, catching her attention and his grin showed his dimples and sincerity, “and for being my friend.”

She wanted to thank him for not being Rien—for being genuinely likeable and possessing an endearing personality. Instead, Marinette swallowed audibly and her grin grew, reaching her bright cerulean eyes and hopefully conveying how much he had come to mean to her; the awkward gestures he made, how nervous he came when confronted with new people, and definitely how unbelievably nice he was to _her_. The male before her would never lift a finger to harm her, and just knowing that she could trust him warmed her heart.

When she accepted the sweet, she maintained eye contact and didn't shuffle away when their hands brushed.

Her hands didn't shake. She wasn't scared, and the sheer difference to their first interaction to how they were at that moment, together awkwardly passing a lollipop between each other, proved how she'd accepted her place in the world without showing their previous counterparts onto others any longer.

“Well,” Marinette said, the sweet twirling within her fingertips on one hand while the other had the pen, “if I knew I'd receive this for all my kindness, then I would've given you even more.” Her gaze flickered from both as she tried to keep her expression neutral. She could feel his gaze on her face, but she remained stoic. “You shouldn't have, Adrien.”

Making a disapproving noise with his mouth, Adrien reached into his bag again and the tell-tale sound of crinkling appeared, and she burst into laughter as he pulled out the entire bag which he'd selected the lollipop from previously. He grinned wolfishly, placing it unceremoniously onto her desk between her busy hands.

“You're absolutely right, Marinette,” the blond agreed, plucking the pen from her hands and tucking away into his bag before leaving it on his table, out of sight. He turned around fully in his seat, weight upon the back of his chair, and gazed at the offered sweet. His golden-stained eyelashes were creating shadows on his cheekbones, and all he had to do was utter a bad pun to ruin his angelic appearance. “Those pens were payment for your life, so consider the sweet a gift of friendship.”

“My life?” she parroted, furrowing her eyebrows and not quite understanding. Her thoughts flickered, trying to piece together the meaning, before she realised that she'd been too busy coughing and wheezing after coming into consciousness at the swimming pool to turn around and thank her saviour—she'd assumed it had been Chloé at one point, before noticing that things were different. But from what she'd known, Adrien had only transferred and spent a year with Rin (who she still suspected hadn't been friendly with him), and yet he'd jumped in and saved her, proceeding with the correct procedure because it had been the right thing to do. She asked softly, “That was you?”

Adrien blinked, a confused expression appearing for a moment before his lips parted in recognition. “You didn't know? I—I assumed you just didn't want to talk about it.”

Shaking her head, the blue-eyed female murmured, “No, I didn't. It— _I_ was too panicked to think clearly.”

“Can I ask you something?” he whispered, fingertips tapping soundlessly against her desk. His expression was sincere, no smile across his lips any longer, and his eyebrows were slightly furrowed in concern. “You can tell me to stop if I make you uncomfortable at all, but, well, I—I want to know _you_.”

Didn't they already know each other? It had taken almost all of the education year, but they could be classed as friends at that point. Marinette mulled over her answer, gnawing at her lower lip anxiously as his expression conveyed how serious he was. Wordlessly, Marinette nodded and dropped her clutched belongings onto the table so she could play with her fingers in the safety of her lap.

He released a quiet breath. “The teacher explained your condition to us, but... something's been nagging me, and I'm so sorry if this is intrusive,” Adrien began, expression looking pained and his voice was low and strained. “Marinette... are you afraid of me?”

“ _No_ ,” she whispered, voice cracking and causing warmth to blossom along her cheekbones. After clearing her throat, she repeated in a stronger voice, “No.”

They paused, staring at each other for a prolonged amount of time; his eyes were kind, taking in her expression and she tried to keep a neutral face, because it was _not_ a lie. She was afraid of Rien, not the male before her—if anything, he was a source of warmth in this world, and the kind-hearted smiles that appeared were more than enough to comfort her. He was not her tormentor, and could probably never be.

“W-were you?” he choked out, grimacing.

How could she explain it? Admitting that she was from another world, and that she'd taken over her counterpart's body, wasn't going to do any favours for convincing anyone that she was sane. There was only the option of going with her injury, no matter how much of a sour taste it left on her tongue. So, with a strained expression that was caught between distaste and feeling nauseous, Marinette whispered, “I was scared of everyone—I didn't know who you were.”

Her lower lip trembled.

“Oh,” Adrien whispered, averting his eyes. Guilt coursed through her, and she bit into her lower lip to stop the tell-tale signs of her anxiety. “I...” He cleared his throat. “I've never heard you ask about how you were before; it's like... you don't want to know.”

She didn't, not really. From what she could tell Rin had been a spoiled brat, and it was the complete opposite of her character. “I consider her a different person,” Marinette whispered.

The choice of words didn't escape his notice. She didn't flinch when his bright eyes snapped up to meet hers, confusion clear within his emerald irides. “Is that why you go by your full name?”

“I never thought the nickname suited me,” Marinette confessed, wrinkling her nose briefly in distaste. “It's easier to differentiate us this way, isn't it? Rin is a person of the past, and I am here in her place.” Her voice shook throughout, and it was a feat that she'd managed to maintain her composure throughout without feeling the prickling at the back of her eyes. There was only a small chance of her bursting into tears, and that hadn't happened since the first couple of months. “Adrien,” she found herself calling, “were you friends with her?”

He blinked.

A one-sided smile tugged on his lips, but it wasn't sincere; no dimples were shown, it didn't meet his eyes, and his expression was _flat_. “I wouldn't quite call it that,” the blond murmured, leaning down slightly to rest his chin upon his open palm (a comfortable pose, conflicting his expression). “Rin was very opinionated. When we first met, she threatened to punch me in the face because of a misunderstanding.”

Definitely her opposite, then. Marinette blanched with wide eyes, recalling their first meeting. “That might've been preferable to me vomiting on your shoes.”

To her surprise, he laughed. It was genuine, too, and his grin after the breathy guffaw had left was kind, creating the indents on his cheeks. “I didn't know you were, well, _you_ back then, so I thought it was a new tactic to try and rile me up.” At her confused expression, the blond continued to say, “Rin liked to see whether she could cause me to embarrass myself; she pestered me in class often because of it.”

She averted her eyes that time, looking at her clasped hands anxiously. “I'm sorry.” Despite how nice it was for someone to openly talk about her counterpart and admit that they were separate beings, the offered information was anything but positive. It was no wonder that it had taken time for them to become friendly—would Rin have become like Rien in this world if she was given the chance? “Did she— _was_ she ever violent?” Marinette whispered, fingers curling into her fabric-clad thighs from nerves.

“No, thankfully,” he answered.

When a hand came into contact with her shoulder, she visibly jumped and hit her knees on the underside of the desk. Marinette grimaced, feeling the throbbing pain quickly, and flushed when she met his concerned expression. He was there with a gentle hand on her shoulder, in a comforting gesture that had rarely been intended for her.

And then, he murmured softly, “I don't blame you.”

It was what she wanted to hear. To her utter horror, there was a tingling behind her eyes and the back of her throat grew irritated, dry, and she swallowed audibly and uncertainly raised her hand, placing it upon his on her shoulder and squeezed to signal that she _understood_. And she was thankful for the words; to know that her errors of her counterpart were no longer being thrust upon her shoulders, and she wanted to confess that he wasn't the blond that she'd grown up with, to tell him that he was a free being that had done no wrong to her, and his words were so precious that her cheeks grew warm and her smile was shy just from hearing them.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Rose-coloured blush appeared across the tops of his cheeks, matching hers, and he grinned openly. Squeezing her fingers, Adrien pulled their hands back so he could clasp her hand within his easily, lacing their fingers together gently with a matching expression. “I like you.”

It was direct, blunt, and caused her to blink in surprise, incredulous. “I like you, too?”

And despite her confused tone, he laughed softly and the attractive noise added to her growing embarrassment. Shifting in her seat, uncertain about their clasped hands, Adrien shook his head, causing the strands of golden-coloured hair to fall out of their usual style slightly. “Not like that,” he said, running his free hand through the tresses and showing her a glimpse of more of his forehead for a moment. “I'm trying to confess to you.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly.

When she was about to answer again, surely to blurt the first coherent sentence that popped into her head, Adrien wildly shook his free hand and head, indicating for her to stop. She paused, bemused, and didn't restrain the smile across her lips.

“If it's not too much trouble,” he said, calming down from the sudden movements, “could you give me your answer in a few weeks?”

Her feelings weren't clear for him. Only a few months ago he'd acquired the status of being a friend, and before that she'd shook and attempted to stay away from him; but she knew he was different, that they, perhaps, could've been successful in a relationship if she pushed the idea of his counterpart aside, but she was still settling into the world. She had her parents, more friends than she'd even had before, and knowing that he had such an interest in her made her cheeks warm.

After she cleared her throat, Marinette asked shyly, “Is that why you kept asking for pens?”

His answering grin was wide, blinding, and he squeezed her hand and it made her realise that she hadn't recoiled of pulled away. They were still holding each other innocently upon the table, him leaning on it to talk to her efficiently. “Not at first, no,” he admitted sheepishly. “I wanted to be your friend, but I wasn't sure how to approach you, especially because of how... we met.” He chose his words wisely, and she appreciated the effort. “So, I thought it would be best to wait for you to open up to me.”

It had only taken months for it to happen. “I was horrible to you.”

“No,” Adrien denied, thumb caressing her skin softly in a circular pattern. “That wasn't you.”

“I—”

The smile across his lips disouraged her. Marinette closed her mouth, pulling her lower lip in to gnaw on and peeked at him through her lashes. There was feelings of fondness for him, certainly, but there was the underlying feeling of guilt—what is she disappeared as easily as she'd appeared? If they were to be close, and when he opened his eyes it wouldn't be her in front of him; if Rin would ever appear after her stint away, it would've been horrifying. The thought of her appearing after spending time with Rien (and, perhaps, becoming somewhat friendly), and breaking any feeling of affection that Adrien had for her.

And so, with a painful expression, Marinette gently tugged her hand free of his and grasped the straps of her bag. “I can't,” she rasped, averting her eyes and busying herself by preparing to leave.

The silence was deafening. She gulped, bowing her head in farewell and ran through the doorway and as far away as she could.

For all the effort she'd put in, Rin still had the chance to destroy it; if she could protect someone close to her from that feeling, she was going to try her best and ignore the pain she felt in the process.

The trip for their class wasn't the swimming pool as it was the last year. Instead, they were visiting a art museum that had recently opened an hour away, and she'd walked through the different sections with a dazed expression. Nino and Alya were busy, whispering to each other and being generally close, and the one that she usually spent time with when they were busy flirting was absent. Adrien hadn't appeared in the morning, hadn't been on the coach already, and when they exited the vehicle and did a headcount, he still hadn't been there. The teacher didn't comment on his absence, and when she asked Nino he simply shrugged his shoulders and predicted it was because of his work.

Adrien had withdrawn and home-schooled like he had in the past. She learned the information from Nino eventually, when the three friends had been accepted to their wanted colleges and noticed that a blond-haired male had never turned up. And then, Adrien's popularity grew, and as she was pursuing her want of studying fashion, he was appearing in multiple magazines and even being featured in interviews. Nino and Alya found it hard to get into contact with him; his schedule was packed, and messages on cell phones were what they could squeeze out of him every few days.

After she'd graduated from university, settled down into her old bedroom that still had Rin's decorations within it, there was a single emotion that was being amplified—regret.

It had been years, and Rin hadn't made an appearance. There had been no flickers of the other world, or of anything else waking up with a spontaneous different personality, and all she could think was that she was an utter _fool_ for rejecting him out of fear; she wanted him to flourish, be happy, and not deal with the troubles of her life, and from his smiling face that was plastered on glossy paper and billboards, it was clear that he was doing just fine.

He was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) ♥～('▽^人)


	2. 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone pointed out that the summary sounded like it meant Chloé, and that made me laugh for ages. Thank you for all the support, I really appreciate it! Next up will be a vampire story.
> 
> \- ̗̀art ̖́- [aoirin](http://aoirin.tumblr.com/post/174214937941).

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

Even in death, Chloé was dramatic.

Marinette had received the invitation to her old class-mates' funeral, and had stared at the writing uncertainly. At first, she wondered why she'd been invited at all, then she recalled that during the years that they had been apart that the blonde had become somewhat of a socialite, constantly on magazines for gossip stories, and spoken about in hushed tones about what unbelievable activity she'd participated in lately. So, even though they had never been close, it seemed to suit her that her family would attempt to invite everyone she ever knew, so she could revel in the attention (even in the afterlife).

She couldn't work up the courage to attend the actual service, though. Even if the face had matured, it had once belonged to her best friend—one who's existence had faded, memories becoming blurry and only visible in her journals once more—and she couldn't bear to see her within a coffin, no matter how fancy. Then, the news reached her that there wouldn't be an open casket at all; Chloé had passed away gruesomely, and her family wanted to preserve her beauty by not allowing anyone to glimpse her corpse. Still, armed with that knowledge, Marinette couldn't attend.

Her feet had taken her to a pristine building, standing outside at the steps staring at the sign that had Chloé's name on it, and had felt a lump in her throat.

She couldn't.

While her life might not have turned out how she thought, the idea of someone else close to her passing away hadn't occurred to her. And to add to the building sadness, she realised that if her Chloé—the one she'd left behind to fend for herself—ever found herself in the same situation, she wouldn't make it through to her side. There was no body for her to inhabit, and despite knowing that there was no one else that had a situation quite like hers, knowing that her best friend was off limits, forever, made her heart hurt.

There were tears in her eyes as she walked away, not looking back.

She was mourning the last possible good thing that could come from her previous home.

She imagined the sweet and kind-hearted Chloé, the one that had rosy cheeks and a bright smile, along with a soft voice that often spoke small poems, knowing that she'd never hear them again. It had began to sink in over the years that she was trapped, stuck in the new world where she was treated like a princess by her family—but she'd _left_. She'd abandoned her sole comfort, the one that had wiped her tears and tried to give awful motivational speeches, and her breaths were coming rapidly, chest hurting from the sudden influx of emotions.

It had been seven years since she'd arrived, and she needed to bury her previous feelings. Her Chloé was gone forever, and there was no chance of her following in Marinette's footsteps.

She'd escaped, and lost her in the process.

It wasn't a fair trade; Marinette had gained a loving family, faithful friends that stuck by her side, and in return had most likely sent her awful counterpart to her previous life. Chloé was alone with her step-brother, and all Marinette could think as she shakily walked down the street was that she wished, _prayed_ , that her Chloé hadn't died, too—not even if it was a painless death, and that thought was so selfish, as she was clinging to her fleeting memories of her, and not thinking about what was best for Chloé.

Listed on the invite was a hotel, and it said that the bar had been rented out for the funeral party. She walked through the street slowly, wind whipping harshly against her face and making her cheeks sting from the cold, and walked numbly into the hotel entrance. An employee met her on the inside—dressed in a standard black-and-white outfit—and asked politely whether she was a part of the Bourgeois party. Her throat felt dry when she went to answer, so instead she nodded with averted eyes.

Her black dress was simple, respectful, and had a sweet-looking white collar that was covered in black lace, with sleeves that were long and fit snugly; it was one of her own creations, and her years of studying fashion had helped her to develop her talent, although it was a shame that she hadn't been able to make use of it.

The hotel was grand, elegant, and had plush chairs and expensive decorations throughout. It took a few moments to realise that it belonged to Chloé's family, so it was no wonder that they were ending the night there. Marinette took a seat by the ever-long bar, noting the pristine countertops and the lack of dirt anywhere to be seen.

She nursed her first drink sadly, trying to recall the memories of her own Chloé—she had never been close to the new one, and had never attempted to grow a relationship with her because of her face—and finished each thought with a sip, feeling the pleasant burn against her throat.

It was time to let go. The last connection she'd treasured had disappeared, and there was no point holding onto the past. So, with each mouthful, Marinette thought of the good things of her new life.

She had a job, a steady income, even it wasn't what she'd wanted to do. Her mother was alive and well, Alya and Nino were permanently engaged, and never quite taking the leap as they wanted to save their money for other things. She was able to create clothing in her free time, when she wasn't occupied with work, and often saw the friends she'd made over the years. She wasn't dead—that was the main thing, wasn't it? Seven years and she'd created happy memories, friendships and awkward situations, and had even had boyfriends that had never quite lasted.

It didn't catch her attention that people had trailed in, soft music had began playing, and that seats within the bar area were being filled until the stool beside her was occupied.

“You're a sight for sore eyes,” the newcomer commented quietly, and Marinette's head snapped up and looked at her with wide eyes. “This is the event of the century, she must be rolling in her grave from all the attention.”

She smiled a little. “I thought much the same.”

Lila grinned, showing the whites of her teeth that stood out against her tanned skin. “How have you been, Mari? I haven't seen you for a few months.”

They had been unlikely room-mates at university. Lila Rossi, an Italian female with brown hair that fell to the small of her back and had fluffy bangs above her eyebrows, was quick-tempered, feisty, and had a sharp tongue when she was caught unaware, or if she was unfamiliar with someone. They had clashed at first, leaving nasty little notes out of spite and establishing clear designated spots within their room, but after a few months their initial rude comments turned into sarcasm, and before long they were cracking smiles while trying to remain indifferent with each other. They were quite the pair, known within their dorm for being the exotic-looking room-mates because of their ethnicities, and before long they taught each other small phrases in each other's languages so they could mock the stares that were sent their way.

“I'm okay.” She shrugged, shifting her hips to sit more comfortably as she caressed her glass idly on the countertop. “I heard you got a job on the local paper, though. You didn't lie about your background, did you?”

Lila smirked wolfishly. “Why, what could you possibly mean?” she sang dramatically, resting her elbow on the bar. “I might've lied about leading the school paper when I was still in school, but that's hardly important. I'm already adored for my work.”

“Right.” The dark-haired female snorted. “Are you sticking your nose in other people's business' for a living now? I bet that's your role, rather than reporting on crimes.”

“I don't whether to be offended or flattered you know me so well.” Lila sniffed, flagging the bartender down with a raise of her manicured fingers.

After she was playing with a glass, saying that she needed to be slow as she was there on business, mostly, their conversation turned light-hearted and friendly. Although they hadn't seen each other often since they'd graduated, and Marinette's life had turned to the unexpected and her career path was changed, they messaged each other frequently; the brunette was fond on filling her on on the latest news that had anything to do with her. She sauntered off to mingle around the room, to discreetly pick up information for her article, and Marinette stayed near the bar and continued to peek at the room, taking in the different faces.

There was a clear divide between the guests—some had expensive outfits, jewellery that sparkled in the lighting, while others wore non-designer labels and were talking animatedly, recalling their childhood together during school times. It was easy to spot those that kept Chloé company before her demise, and those that were unwilling victims during their early years, yet still felt the need to attend to offer their sympathies to the family. Marinette counted herself in with the other school-mates, noting that she hadn't worn any jewellery with her outfit and felt quite out of place.

She probably had dark circles under her eyes, pale skin that contrasted with her hair, and looked thoroughly disgruntled to be there (she couldn't deny that titbit).

When Alya and Nino arrived, they settled down at the bar beside her and prattled on about unimportant topics in an attempt to cheer her up, and it resulted in Marinette shoving her red-headed best friend playfully and almost causing her to fall off her stool in the process. Thankfully, her fiancé caught her and teased her about it mercilessly. Nino excused himself, running a hand through his thick dark-coloured curls, and said he'd be back in a while with a special guest.

“Half the people here are just looking for gossip,” Alya commented snidely, raising her upper lip in disgust. “Look at them— _vultures_.”

She shrugged her shoulders lightly, swishing the contents of her drink around rather than finishing it—she'd already had far too many, and there were still a few hours left of free beverages. “That's probably what Chloé would've wanted, don't forget that,” Marinette pointed out blandly. “Lila's here to for an article, too.”

“Lila's _nice_ , though. She actually checks her information, and if the rumour is bullshit she calls it out for that,” the red-head responded, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “I bet you the headlines tomorrow are going to say that Chloé was loved by all, and never mention what a swot she was.”

“At least wait a few hours before insulting her.” She shivered. “If the wrong person hears you, they might try and start a fight. We both know what happened the last time you fought, Alya.”

The tanned female grinned widely, tucking a stand of curly hair that had escaped from her bun behind her ear. “Oh, yes. Nino defended my honour.”

“If you want to call it that—he tried to fight that girl's boyfriend and ended up getting his ass handed to him,” Marinette replied, raising her eyebrows tauntingly. “Or did you enjoy nursing his wounds? Fuck, you _would_.”

Alya merely wiggled her brows suggestively.

Their conversation from then on caused her cheeks to feel warm from laughter, and tears to appear in her eyes from happiness. Even though they didn't attend the same university, they never grew much apart. Alya and Nino had attended the same one together, eventually sharing an off-campus apartment and thriving in their pre-engaged relationship, and she constantly received updates about the silly antics of their relationship. The worst was when Alya sent photographs when she was fast asleep, and she was awoken just to see what torture the other had put each other through. It was nice that their relationship had lasted so long, though, and Marinette constantly found herself quite jealous when her own failed miserably, especially when she drank wine and spouted her problems to Alya with Nino laughing in the next room, trying not to include himself in the conversations.

“Have you seen Adrien yet, Mari?” Alya questioned.

She stilled, glass pressed against her lips. “No?”

“I saw him at the funeral. Chloé's father made him sit up the front, alongside the family.”

It wasn't her place to jump to conclusions, but she knew that they hadn't been dating. Chloé's romantic adventures were almost always published and fully available for anyone to read, and Adrien's life was a popular topic within magazines, too. She'd learned through a few articles that they had been close when they were younger, back before he'd attended school for those short two years. Despite being there for one year of that short time, the interactions between the two had never been that friendly; they never sought each other out, nor comforted the other when they were sad, so it was safe to assume that it was a friendship that had been forced by their parents.

 _Parents_. Marinette winced, finishing her drink with a flourish. She sighed audibly, capturing the attention of the bartender and ordering a non-alcoholic beverage for her next. It wouldn't to do be more than tipsy when she had to walk back home.

“He came down for Nino's birthday,” Alya continued, tapping her fingertips in a rhythm against the countertop. “It was nice—I'm sorry you couldn't make it.”

She shook her head. “It's okay, I had to work.”

“You always have to work lately,” the tanned female replied, raising an eyebrow. “Why don't you hire someone else?”

“I—” Marinette cleared her throat, uncertainty clear across her expression. How could she explain that she felt that it was her place to help out, and that hiring a new person to be about her hair-brained mother would've caused more trouble than good? “I can't. It just doesn't feel right, Alya.”

Alya sighed, averting her eyes to glance into the crowd beside them. The music was louder than before, slightly more upbeat, and there was a murmured hush from all the conversations that were happening. “This is the first afternoon you've had in forever—and it's for a _funeral_ of someone you didn't even like,” she continued softly, reaching across and placing her hand upon Marinette's, which had been clutching the new glass. “I can see that you're exhausted, too. You don't need to continue your father's legacy; you can do what _you_ want.”

“Stop,” Marinette whispered, voice shaking. Her voice broke audibly, and she recoiled from the comforting touch and fiddled with her fingers upon her lap safely. “This is what I want. Please, stop doubting that.”

With a sigh, Alya agreed to drop the subject for the time being. Instead, she ordered a shot of alcohol for the two of them, and they finished it quickly and grimaced in unison. Their conversation turned light-hearted again, thankfully, and Marinette began to smile again from the change of subject. It wasn't long before Nino trailed back over, an obvious frown across his lips.

The bright-coloured hats had disappeared over the years, and his hair was constantly scruffy, full of curls, and the dark trousers and white shirt he had on contrasted nicely with his skin. He'd learned to dress himself through the years (no doubt from Alya's insistence that he looked ridiculous at times). Nino placed a quick kiss onto his fiancée's cheek and settled into the stool beside her, leaning on the bar to see both of them clearly.

“Rough time?” Alya questioned, moving back and removing her glass from his reach.

He huffed audibly, air causing the dark tresses of hair to move along his forehead. “I was practically mauled for trying to remove him from his fans over there. Best friend or not, it's fucking annoying sometimes.”

“Trying to bring Adrien over?” Marinette questioned, voice slightly higher than before.

Alya threw her hands up dramatically, glaring openly at her other half. “Way to be discreet, Nino!”

“Babe!” he defended himself. “It's not like I said his name!”

They were sweet, really. When Adrien hadn't extended his schooling publicly, they had been just as lost as she. Through the years Nino had remained close to him through his cell phones, and they had finally met after they had finished university again. Adrien made sure to attend special events that he could, where he knew there would be a small amount of people and was less likely to be harassed in public, and because of the timing Marinette had never quite made it to the same events. She couldn't say that she would've willing gone if she was free, though. Through the years, her thoughts constantly flickered to how sweet he had been in school, especially after their abysmal first meeting, and the guilt plagued her when she realised that her fondness hadn't topped her fear of being replaced.

She wanted to apologise for how she'd reacted. He didn't deserve the abrupt rejection or her running away, just for them not to see each other for an unforeseen amount of time. She'd learned of his life through magazines and kept up-to-date because of the friendship they had once had, and she told herself constantly that she'd have the chance to make up for her past mistakes when the time came.

“I'm not working right now,” Marinette said dryly, raising her eyebrows at the two. “He doesn't bite. I'm not going to run away.”

Their twin expressions showed that they didn't believe her.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look, if he comes over I'll stay firmly in my seat, okay? You can even have free food for a week if I do leave—other than for the toilet.”

Nino happily agreed first.

She didn't blame them for being wary, though, and jumping to conclusions. When Marinette had refused to repeat her conversation with Adrien back then, they had been lost and utterly disappointed that a confession didn't happen; they were so wholly sure that they would've been the perfect couple together that Marinette held her tongue whenever they complained together, never quite admitting that she'd rejected him and ran away. So, when the time came when Nino and Adrien had met once again in person, the information had came out at one of the birthday parties that Marinette hadn't found the time to attend. Adrien had told them that he'd been denied, and then found out about the further tutoring without much of a choice. He said that there were no hard feelings, but Marinette suspected that Alya was dramatic enough for the both of them.

So, with raised eyebrows and teasing glances, her two friends had began to assume that the reason she really wasn't turning up was because of him, rather than her job. Despite how many times she denied it, they were thoroughly convinced that she was too shy, or maybe even ashamed, to see him again after their last meeting.

It had been seven years, though, and that had settled any affectionate feelings that had been more than friendship and wiped them away.

She excused herself to the toilet, being distracted halfway by a few old class-mates from years ago, and returned to her seat at the bar idly. Fiddling with her cell phone to finish sending her mother a message, Marinette walked into an obstacle after she'd placed her cell phone back into her bag. She spluttered, feeling a sharp sting in her nose and thankful that it was a person, rather than an object, so there wasn't any blood or further injury. Shuffling away and bowing her head slightly in apology, Marinette stumbled over her sorry as she closed her bag.

“It's quite all right,” he replied, laughing lightly. “It's good to see you're still the same, Marinette.”

She froze, eyes widening and flickering upwards to take in the person before her; coiffed golden-coloured hair, bright eyes, kind smile, and the added height and muscle that hadn't been there when they were younger. The difference between them was showing as they stood in front of each other; the fabrics, the lack of dark circles beneath his emerald eyes, and the fact that the top of her head would only just brush against his chin, meaning that she constantly had to look up to him.

“Adrien,” she breathed, surprise clear in her tone, “I— _hi_.”

Alya caught her eye, grinning widely and pointing to a new glass that had appeared with a brightly-coloured liquid inside, and she once more took the seat that she'd been occupying for her time at the bar. With a start, she realised that Alya and Nino had shuffled along in her absence, opening up the seat beside her with their intentions clear.

Naturally, Adrien sat down, too, and she couldn't lean around him to glare at her best friend without being blatantly obvious. “I finally escaped the clutches of my capturers, and it was all thanks to Ivan,” the blond announced, smiling. “I'll have to give my thanks later when he's alone. It's dangerous out there.” His suit was crisp, without a crease upon his shirt, and the black-and-white ensemble brought out the brightness of his hair.

“Won't they just see you over here?” Marinette questioned, blinking. “You're not exactly hiding.”

He shrugged lightly, jacket making a noise with his movements. “Hopefully they'll be too distracted about Chloé or trying to drown their sorrows in alcohol to realise I'm here—that's the plan, at least.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly. “Good luck with that, then.”

Much like in the past, their two friends were talking amongst each other, not involving themselves in their conversation and the thought of them never growing up, not changing their tactic, had a fond smile curling across her lips. It seemed it didn't matter how much time passed, they were always going to be ridiculous, and the only detail they could've added to make it more obvious would be to have one of them whistling underneath their breath, trying to prove their innocence. Adrien caught the fond look to his side and spied the couple happily talking to each other, Alya's back to them as she obscured her expression from view.

“This seems to be their favourite activity,” he remarked.

She snorted. “They don't do this often—I think you're the cause of it.”

“Ouch,” Adrien commented, dramatically placing a hand upon his chest. “That hurts, Marinette.”

When she opened her mouth to retort, she paused and swallowed the teasing comment, not quite comfortable enough to venture that far quite yet. Adrien grinned as they made eye contact, the barely there dimples upon his cheeks showing his sincerity, and she shied away and averted her eyes, instead choosing to quickly finish the rest of her drink (which turned out to be alcoholic, courtesy of Alya). He wasn't acting like a stranger—that became clear when their conversation continued, and they kept it to light topics that wouldn't cause any issues. They were skirting around the obvious awkward element to their forgotten friendship, and she couldn't blame him for not wanting to talk about it.

She still wanted to apologise, though.

“Oh, I heard you've got a full-time job now?” Adrien questioned, grinning lop-sidedly. “That's really good, Marinette. Are you enjoying it?”

With a glance over his shoulder, confirming that the averted eyes of Nino which were adamantly staring at his drink instead, Marinette concluded where that titbit of information had came from. “I guess,” she replied softly, not wanting to outright state that it wasn't where she'd imagined herself doing. “It's a job; doesn't really matter if I enjoy it or not.”

His smiled dropped and she felt guilty immediately. “I'm sorry, that was rude of me,” the blond-haired male said softly, a hand playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck in a tell-tale gesture that he hadn't grown out of. “I'm not sure what I was expecting you to say.”

“It's okay.” Marinette smiled tentatively, playing with her glass. “Not all of us can enjoy the good life and live like royalty.”

It wasn't supposed to offend him, and she was thankful that he didn't look affronted when the words came out of her mouth. Adrien looked visibly surprised for a few moments, blinking, before he burst into short, but breathy and honest, laughter and regained his composure. “If you want to see it like that, sure,” he mused, capturing the attention of the bartender to get himself a drink. She was wholly surprised when he ordered her one, too, that was non-alcoholic. “Modelling was kind of forced on me, and I'm not quite sure what else I would do with my life.”

For a moment, she thought about the offered information. “What do you _want_ to do?” It was a question that Alya constantly bugged her with, trying to convince her to seek a more enjoyable job and a healthier lifestyle than her current one. “Unless you sold your soul to a demon, I'm sure you'd be able to stop if you wanted.”

“Only after all the contracts I've currently signed are over,” Adrien pointed out, taking a sip of his beverage and looking thoughtful as he swallowed. “I'm not sure, though... I'd want to stay in one place at a time, settle down a bit, I guess.”

“Travelling too much trouble?” she questioned, titling her head to the side. “I've never been outside of the country before.”

He explained the constant travelling, the hotels and always meeting new people, never quite having much alone time and his home not having much of a homely feel to it. He explained that he'd always wanted a pet when he was younger and had never had one, and that he was still unable to because of his lifestyle, even though he lived alone when he had a few spare weeks where there wasn't any work. Adrien looked visibly uncomfortable as he told her tales of his rising popularity through the years, the obsessive fans that had sent letters to his address and caused him to have to move and not introduce himself to the neighbours too soon, and how much of a strain it was to constantly learn phrases in different languages so he didn't come across as simple during his work.

Their second round of drinks were alcoholic. Marinette started off her story tentatively, saying that she studied fashion and received positive grades and was wholly happy with herself, and found that her voice only cracked when she mentioned her father's death. She explained that she'd taken over his role within the pâtisserie, but it was more than she'd originally agreed to. There was the unspoken explanation that her mother had suffered greatly from her husband's loss, and was never quite the same after it. The workload had increased, and she was exhausted from the early mornings baking, and the cleaning in the evening as her mother stared blankly at the television for hours on end. The sweet scent couldn't replace the happy memories, and the shell of the mother she had left was still more than the previous family than she had had. Therefore, Marinette felt like it was a duty to continue the business, not allowing in to close and be forgotten.

She'd moved out into a cheap apartment nearby, for a sense of independence, but still cleaned her childhood home and made sure her mother was okay.

“What do you want to do, Marinette?” he questioned softly.

The enquiry was finally being returned, and she found herself revealing a different answer than the one that she usually gave to Alya. “I want to design clothing—even if it's for a silly boutique online, I think I'd be happy doing that.”

He didn't laugh or discourage her from the idea. Adrien finished the rest of his drink—she'd sipped through the rest of hers minutes ago—and rested his chin within his palm, elbow propped against the bar. “Why do you feel like you need to work for your family's business?”

“To show my appreciation for what they've done for me,” she whispered. To thank them for welcoming her into their home, back when she was without the memories to recall them throughout the years before she'd appeared, and had banished their own daughter in the process.

Humming, Adrien ran a hand loosely through his hair. “I didn't get a choice when I was younger, Marinette,” the blond started, a sad smile playing across his lips. “Don't sacrifice your happiness to please your family—they would only feel responsible if they found out.”

“You have a choice now, don't you?”

He blinked. “In a way.”

Her smile was sincere when she looked up to meet his eyes, a shy dusting of colour across her cheeks. “Then why not take it? I'll take the leap if you do, too.”

“Are you trying to coerce me into a blood pact?”

Laughter shook her body, and she shook her head fondly at the joke, the guffaws growing breathy and slightly hysterical from the amount of alcohol she'd consumed. Still, she was happy to be there with him after the years had passed without any forced interactions, or the uncontrollable clenching of her stomach as she reminisced about the past. The male before her was grown up, no longer the awkward teenager that had once looked like her tormentor. His cheeks had thinned out from the years, jaw standing out more, and there was no denying that he held a certain charm to him.

“How about a promise?” Marinette suggested, holding up her hand and letting her little finger stick out with clear intentions.

Eyeing her offered hand, Adrien frowned for a few moments, and she was worried that she'd made an utter fool of herself for a while. And then, a soft smile grew across his lips, reaching his ever-green eyes, and his little finger intertwined with hers, the warmth of his skin much better than the cool glasses she had been holding almost all evening.

Adrien drawled, “It's a deal.” And they shook awkwardly, laughing underneath their breaths and holding onto their little fingers for longer than necessary.

She excused herself to the bathroom quickly, and when she came back the seat beside her was vacant, and Alya was sat there, alone, with raised eyebrows and a pleased smile across her lips.

“Don't start,” Marinette grouched, rolling her eyes as she sat beside her best friend. “I won't hold back from hitting you.”

Alya held her hands up in a dramatic gesture of surrender. “I'm not going to say anything, really.” And with a few seconds of passing silence between them, it was broken as the red-head blurted, “Except that you held his hand!”

“Little finger,” she corrected, narrowing her eyes. “And it's not a big deal. I told you we'd talk, didn't I? And we did. We spoke, it was fine, and now we're done.” She hadn't created the chance to apologise without ruining their conversation, though, so that would have to be at a later date. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” Marinette questioned when she looked up to see her friend's smug smile.

“Because he's coming back over.”

She blinked. “...Oh.”

“I'll leave you to it,” Alya exclaimed happily, wrapping her arms around her and squeezing tightly before disappearing into the crowd, surely searching for her fiancé once more.

It was clear that Adrien wasn't phased by her sudden disappearance, though. He smiled and waved as he approached, happily taking the seat beside her and and placing the suit jacket onto the bar beside him, glad that any spilled liquid had been mopped up and cleaned. The sleeves of his white shirt had been pushed up to his elbow, the creases and revealed skin attractive to look at, and she finally noticed that he'd undone the top two buttons of his shirt, making her aware of the lack of tie that hadn't been there at all.

“Hello again,” he greeted, the corner of his eyes changed from the smile that reached them. “Sorry for disappearing earlier, I got flagged down by a few reporters.”

She made a noise of understanding, fingertips playing with her loose hairs. “How did you manage to escape this time? I think that you might need to have smoke bombs on hand, so your disappearance can be more dramatic.”

“Perhaps I need to visit a joke-shop in my free time.” He laughed, shoulders shaking with each breathy noise. “No, I just said I saw someone I needed to talk to. They were happy enough with what I'd said already, so I managed to walk away,” Adrien explained, pointing his index finger to her as he beamed. “Aren't you flattered?”

Her lower lip wobbled from trying not to chortle. “Positively touched.”

His answering grin was almost blinding. “It's really good to see you, Marinette.”

With a blush across her cheeks, Marinette was about to answer when instead her body interrupted, and she yawned blatantly, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as she closed her eyes and followed through. He didn't laugh at her behaviour, nor the sleepy look she gave him when she was done with slightly damp eyes, and that just made her even more embarrassed. She'd already felt thoroughly out of place in the expensive hotel, in the room with all the socialites that sauntered around with their wealth clear from their clothes, and the fact that she was tired out when the darkness outside had only just appeared show how drastically different her lifestyle is.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Adrien offered.

She shook her head, eyes downcast. “No, I live pretty nearby. Thank you for the offer, though.”

“It would be nice to get some fresh air,” he quipped, not taking the denial as a clear answer.

Marinette found no reason to reject him further—it was a friendly gesture and would allow them to talk, and perhaps give her the chance to privately divert their conversation to where she wanted. So, with a shy nod, Marinette excused herself quickly and said her good-byes to those she caught sight of, and had a brief embraces with her old class-mates that were happy to see that she was okay. There were a few questions of where she'd been (hiding at the bar, but she hadn't mentioned that), and what she was doing with her life, but she never fully answered them and instead moved onto the next person.

With the cold air greeting her and making her cheeks feel tingly from the temperature, Marinette shivered as they started down the road. It was awkward at first, the both of them not quite knowing what to say, and when Adrien tentatively offered her his jacket, she refused with a yawn, which made him laugh at how her answer had came out. She laughed right back, shrugging her shoulders lightly and pointing out where to go. When she questioned where he was going afterwards, the blond didn't give a straight answer that made her suspect that he was going right back to the hotel for a while more.

“Marinette,” he called as they turned a corner, hands within his pockets and cheeks flushed, the tip of his nose reddened. “Can I ask you something?”

Resisting the urge to reply with a terrible joke to point out that he already had, Marinette nodded, cold tresses of her hair moving and causing her to shiver with the movement. They stood before her cheap apartment, the chipped paint upon the bricks and plant pots that she'd placed outside with the intent of cheering up the environment. The decorative net curtains were hanging in the window, making the run down home look lived in.

His fingertips touched his the nape of his neck self-consciously. “I—can I have your number?”

It wasn't what she'd expected at all. Marinette turned her head sharply to look at him in surprise, body turning and causing her to lose balance in the process. She started to fall with a squeak of shock escaping, a noise she wanted to live down from embarrassment, and as Adrien wrapped his arms awkwardly around her to try and catch her only caused her cheeks to burn in return. The situation took a turn for the worse when she'd recovered, but Adrien's attempt had caused for him to fall instead, and she watched in muted amazement as he slipped to the side, connecting with the pavement and grunting from the contact.

“Y-you—” Marinette stumbled over her words, hands extended uncertainly as the blond picked himself up from the floor, a disgruntled expression and cheeks coloured from something other than the weather. She placed a hand onto his shirt, noting that the other side that had hit the floor was damp and dirtied, and whispered, “Are you okay?”

He was still holding onto his jacket with a free hand, from back when he'd offered it to her, and running the other through his hair, making sure there was no dirt within the golden strands. “Other than my pride? Yes.”

“Thanks for saving me,” she murmured, smiling as she took in his dirtied attire. “I'm sorry I couldn't return the favour.”

And despite the embarrassment they both shared, Adrien beamed at her. “Your number will suffice.”

So, with warm cheeks and a dress that wasn't damp, Marinette gave him her cell phone number.

-x-

She'd finally done it. Marinette looked down at her hands with wide eyes, disbelieving, and let out a laugh that was abrupt and breathy. It had only taken years for her to crack into Rin's old cell phone; Marinette had bought a new one as soon as she'd finished school, claiming that it wasn't compatible for the things she wanted to do on the device. So, the previous cell phone had been shoved away into a drawer within her old bedroom, which she hadn't touched since she'd lived within it. On a whim, the dark-haired female had climbed the stairs to her forgotten bedroom, intending to sort through the journals and throw them _away_ , to mark the day as the one she was officially moving on and cutting ties. There she had come across the electronic device and held it for a few moments before digging through her belongings for a charger.

It had taken three tries for her to guess the code. The background image was of Rin, smiling widely and showing off her capabilities with make-up, and there were countless messages and missed calls that had popped up from long ago. Curious, she slowly clicked the buttons to sort through the files, noting the songs that were popular once before, and opened the images folder while gnawing on her lower lip. It wasn't really an invasion of privacy—it was just her counterpart's—yet she still felt guilty about scrolling through the different photographs. Rin had been fond of experimenting with make-up and taking pictures of the results, and before long there was a change as she looked further.

There were pictures of Adrien, but not quite how she'd seen him through the years. There were three in total, taken at different times, but they could have been considered equally embarrassing. One was him tripping over, food staining his clothing and the expression on his face almost fearful, and then he had an awful amount of blood flowing from his nose in another, ruining his shirt once more, and the final caused Marinette to pause, to stare closer and attempt to decipher what was supposed to be captured.

Adrien had said, long ago, that Rin liked to rile him up. Obviously, their relationship hadn't been a positive one, and the images on the cell phone were most likely fodder to tease him with. Yet, as she stared at the snapshot of Adrien scribbling away within a sketchbook, the back of his head visible and the drawing, too, as he was too busy to notice Rin's presence, she didn't think that it was mocking material. It was a comic consisting of two panels, and although the writing was too faint to work out, the crude-looking drawings had a certain charm to them. They were simplistic, filled in with block colours and rosy cheeks, and she really hoped that Rin hadn't discouraged him from continuing.

She couldn't remember seeing Adrien drawing with her own eyes, though—she saw him in lessons, of course, sketching the required objects and such when necessary, but never in his free time to enjoy himself. So, there was a chance that Rin had gotten to him before.

After their meeting at the hotel bar, their relationship hadn't started off swimmingly. The messages they sent each other were simple, straight to the point, and somewhat awkward as time passed. Marinette wondered whether he remembered their slightly tipsy conversation at all, and found that she regretted not pushing their conversation further to learn more about him. He was still within the tabloids, articles in gossip magazines, and a new billboard had arrived that showed his nose until his collarbones, advertising an expensive cologne.

It was silly, really. They asked each other about their days, whether they were okay, and never pushed it further than that. Marinette politely replied whenever she laid down, exhausted, in her cheap apartment, and at times it took a few days for him to reply with a single sentence (their usual amount). It had started to feel like a forced conversation that wasn't at all what she'd expected, so, after Marinette had showered and prepared for bed, she illuminated her cell phone screen and had started to write her routine message of saying that her day had been fine.

And then, her cell phone vibrated, a steady beat coming through to alert her of an incoming call, and she looked visibly bewildered as she held the device to her ear and asked tentatively, “Hello?”

“Hi, Marinette.” Although his voice sounded different through the cell phone, she could recognise the kind-hearted tone and was furrowing her eyebrows, wondering why he was calling three months after they'd started messaging each other. “Ready to jump off with me?”

She blinked. “Wh—are you asking me to commit suicide with you?”

“Well, no.” It was clear that he was holding back his laughter. “It is a hobby for some, too, but you're safe this time, Marinette. I'm not trying to drag you to your death.”

In the few minutes that they had been talking, they'd avoided the awkward question of how they were, the enquiry their messages always stayed on and never quite made it past. He was audibly happy, tone expressing that he wasn't irritable or anything, and she was so thoroughly confused as to why they'd gotten along better in a few sentences more than the past three months.

“That's nice,” she said, uncertain. “What do you mean jump, then?”

He exhaled audibly, the sound indicating that he hadn't expected that sort of reply. “I don't know whether to be offended or not—we _promised_ , remember?” It took a few moments to process, but when she recalled their intertwined fingers and the half-hearted deal that they'd made, Marinette breathed loudly, never expecting him to follow through and attempt to prompt her to do so, too. “It took a while, I'm sorry. You're ready to dive with me, right?”

She stuttered, “I—”

“None of that,” Adrien teased, and she could imagine his pleasant smile as he said it. “You're not going back on your promise, are you? If you are, I think there's a law that causes you to harm yourself.”

“I can't just quit!” Marinette whispered quickly, clutching the cell phone tighter than before. “Wait—did _you_ quit?”

“Yes?” It sounded like a question. “I just had to wait until my current contracts ran out, but I'm a free man now.”

It should've been obvious that he was serious. Marinette held her comments to herself, remembering the whispered comments that she should pursue her own happiness rather than sacrifice it for her family's business, and wondered whether that was how he really felt, too. If he felt trapped and restricted with modelling, why had he continued until he was twenty-three? It was a career for him that had lasted over a decade, and that probably caused his sour feelings to intensify over the years, whereas Marinette had only exhausted herself for two years. She had money saved up, of course, but it wasn't enough if she tried to make her own online business and failed in the process, so she probably needed to pick a part-time job—

She was actually thinking about it. Adrien wasn't pushing her out of the silence, letting their breathing be the only sound through their cell phones, and as she tried to calculate the amount of money she needed to make on average to assure that she could live without worrying about bills too often, she had a twinge of envy that he wasn't experiencing much the same.

So, after clearing her throat, Marinette stated, “I'd need a couple of weeks to sort things out.”

“You're not bailing on me, are you?”

“No,” she confirmed, fiddling with her clothing. “I just need to sort out everything before I leave.”

Adrien hummed, and it was obvious that he was thinking about how to reply instead of blurting the first thing that came to mind. When he finally did speak, though, Marinette was baffled. “I'm moving in with Nino for a while starting tomorrow—until I can find my own place and I'm sure I want to live there.”

“Not staying with your father?” she questioned softly.

It turned out that his father was paying for his separate apartment, and had therefore cancelled once it was revealed that Adrien wanted to pursue a career of his own, and he didn't feel like dealing with his father's overbearing attitude by staying in his childhood home, so that was why he was going to stay with Nino briefly (and therefore Alya). She wondered how the nights were going to be over there; sometimes when Alya had had a harsh day at work, she'd sit with a bottle of wine and complain about her days, and the thought of Adrien sat beside her, either watching or joining in and whining, too, was amusing to think about.

Their messages turned back to much the same as before after that brief call. Marinette toyed with the idea of leaving for a week until she decided that her lost mother really wasn't cut out for working any more, so she suggested quietly whether they should close the pâtisserie altogether, as Marinette wouldn't stay forever to attempt to juggle both of their jobs, and the option of her mother being a manager of sorts, meaning she'd oversee workers and therefore not have to work herself too harshly from her daughter's absence. It had taken two weeks before her mother had warmed up to the idea, and when she retreated back to her cheap apartment, Marinette started to place advertisements online for possible employees.

Alya was keeping her up-to-date with her new living arrangement, though. It turned out that Adrien did, indeed, share the alcohol with her and whine, much to the amusement of her fiancé. There were times when Nino would return, just to find the two of them telling dramatic tales of woe, spilling liquid onto the carpet in the process, and would simply snap photographs for proof later on. They'd been taken along with the blond apartment scouting, to give second and third opinions, and had turned down more than a few since the beginning. Although she hadn't found out through him, it seemed that Adrien was looking for a property nearby to his genuine friends.

It was four weeks since Chloé's funeral when she saw him again.

Marinette was standing behind the counter at her parents' pâtisserie, a white-coloured half-apron tied around her waist, and a slow trickle of customers through the day due to the awful weather outside. It was spring, but that didn't stop the constant showers of rain, or the crackle of thunder every few weeks. She tapped her fingers continuously against the countertop, attempting to amuse herself, when the door opened and the rusty bells above jingled, proving that someone had really come through (other than the cold wind that wafted inside).

“Welcome!” Marinette greeted, straightening her posture and wiping her hands upon the apron. “How can I help you?”

The newcomer grinned, black umbrella closing loudly and being placed within the little bin that was dedicated to such accessories, and Marinette momentarily gawked at his appearance. Adrien was clad in an overly large scarf, a shirt that was left unbuttoned and free upon a white t-shirt, and dark-stained jeans that were damp at the bottom from the weather.

“I'll buy anything you're willing to give me,” he said, raising a hand and waving.

Marinette blinked. “Adrien,” she called, sounding as surprised as she felt. “What are you doing here?”

Approaching the counter, his eyes were flickering to all the pastries and delicacies that were on display, never quite looking at her face until he beamed, glancing up to meet her sapphire eyes with a kind expression. “I'm exploring the limits of my new diet—I can eat anything I want now, so it's probably going to end in a disaster.” Right, he'd quit his job, and therefore didn't need to restrict his diet any longer. “Nino was singing the praises of this place, so I had to try it for myself and bring some back as a thank you.”

“I'm sure,” she responded wryly. “Do you even know what you like?”

And after saying that he wasn't sure due to his limited diet, Adrien happily paid for the selected that she made and was ecstatic when she pointed out Alya and Nino's favourites to take back to them. They exchanged a brief conversation before he disappeared back into the rain, clutching the bag close to his chest so it wouldn't become damp. That evening, when he tentatively questioned how her day had been via message, Marinette let out a laugh of disbelief at how awkward they were being with each other. It seemed with voices and face-to-face they were fine to converse, but as soon as it turned to typing, their conversations turned mundane and short.

It was two days later when he returned again. Adrien smiled brightly, greeted her mother when she appeared briefly, and tried another pastry and bought himself a coffee as well that time. Marinette raised her eyebrows at his repeated appearance but didn't question it at first, but soon it turned into him appearing every two days like clockwork for two weeks—and when it had been six weeks since their promise, that was when she snapped as he came in, right as he'd dropped his umbrella in the basket once more.

“We are not having a repeat of the pen incident!” Marinette exclaimed, pointing her index finger at him adamantly from behind the counter.

Bemused, he approached, eyes darting around the store and staring at the displays. “I think I'll try this one today,” the blond started, tilting his head to the side to indicate which he was referring to. “Can I buy some for Alya and Nino again? I'm moving out tomorrow, so it's another thank you gesture.”

Marinette puffed her cheeks out dramatically, eyes narrowed at his carefree smile. “You're being super nice and patient again, and I'm not letting this extend on for over half a year once more.”

“Oh, actually, can I have what I chose last time? That was pretty nice,” the blond continued, ignoring her frustrations with his lips twitching in an effort not to laugh. “I think it might be my favourite so far.”

“Hey!” she called, crossing her arms stubbornly beneath her breasts. “I'm not going to serve you if you're going to be a prat.”

He had the gall to look offended, blinking rapidly. “Well, I know when I'm appreciated,” Adrien murmured, lips curling into a lopsided smile. “At least I'm giving you money this time, right? I could've just left you coffee with a note attached, or something else equally strange, so I think I deserve some praise for being quite straight forward this time.”

“You haven't grown up at all,” Marinette remarked, noting the fond tone of her voice. And it was a nice gesture, really, that he was slowly attempting to deepen their relationship and make sure that she followed through her promise of doing what she wanted with her life; it was equally silly and sweet, and that was what made it so fitting for him. “You couldn't exactly waltz in here and ask to borrow a pen.”

Grinning, Adrien nodded his great enthusiastically, eyelids and golden-tinged eyelashes obscuring the emerald irides with his smile. “Exactly—you would've thought I grew up strangely.”

“I think you're strange anyway,” she quipped, gnawing on her lower lip afterwards.

Of course, he didn't take offence to the words. Adrien released a genuine laugh and ran a hand through the loose strands of his hair, and she noted that the weather was still cold enough to tinge his cheeks pink.

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” he said through his laughter, voice stumbling over the syllables. “Are you going to jump with me yet? I think we're pretty equal right now.”

Blinking, Marinette questioned, “How? I have a job still, and you don't because you've got far too much money saved up to worry.” It wasn't supposed to come out sounding sour, but it had. She averted her gaze, ashamed and embarrassed of the outburst that accused him of negative things when it was out of his control. He was being brave and distancing himself from his remaining family from quitting his career, and that took _courage_ ; he didn't deserve such remarks. “I-I mean didn't that— _fuck_ , I didn't mean t-that!”

And in true Adrien fashion, he didn't react badly. When she looked up sheepishly and caught his eye, the smile across his reddened lips was soft and friendly, not at all showing hostility or sadness.

“It's all right, Marinette,” the taller male assured her, voice as soft as his smile. “I understand that it might take you longer, but I just want you to be happy.”

She wetted her lips.

“But...” Marinette trailed off, hands fiddling with her clammy fingers that had appeared far too suddenly, “why do you?”

There was the sound of footsteps as he approached the counter, the tips of his shoes pressing against the display case. “Why do I care for your happiness?” he questioned softly.

“Yes,” she whispered back,warm spreading across her cheeks. “I don't understand.”

“Well,” Adrien started, and she almost jumped as he leaned his hands onto the counter so they were close than before. Looking up with wide eyes, Marinette watched as the slight dimples of his cheeks appeared as he smiled. “I like you.”

The words were how he'd confessed to her before, years ago, and all they were missing was the scenery of the classroom and his hands tentatively in hers, squeezing in a comforting gesture that made her stomach feel uncomfortable. And all she could choke out was, “ _Why_?”

He laughed a little, and the noise was low, honest and breathy. “Why do I like you? I—it's _you_. Do I need another reason?”

“I rejected you,” she whispered.

Nodding his head, Adrien agreed with a gentle hum. “I'm not confessing this time, though. I thought I'd clarify that now.”

She blinked rapidly, the burn of her cheeks increasing as she realised that she'd jumped to conclusions once more—

“I'll save that for later.” And when she looked up to catch his gaze, he winked with a lopsided grin that astounded her momentarily. “Be ready for it.”

“I don't think you're supposed to warn me,” she mumbled, well aware that her face was bright and acting as a beacon for her embarrassment.

Adrien merely shrugged good-heartedly. “The last time I confessed, you had no idea—now you've got a fair warning.”

“We've barely spoken.”

A mischievous expression appeared. “Then can I take that as permission to call you more frequently?” _More_? They'd spoken on their cell phones once, and that was just because Adrien had wanted to express that he'd quit his job and was living with their two friends briefly. Though, she supposed that since he had found himself somewhere to live, alone, it would be fine for them to converse without Alya messaging her afterwards and enquiring about what happened. “Excellent.” He'd taken her taken aback silence as the affirmative. “And I apologise about the messages, I'm really terrible at them.”

“...I could tell?” Marinette squeaked, cheeks reddening further as he laughed once again. “I thought you only cared about my days.”

“Of course,” Adrien confirmed, pointing once more to the selection that he'd chosen before they'd become sidetracked, and she bagged them with clammy hands and a rapidly beating heart. “It seemed a bit too soon to call you whenever I wanted to talk, so I had to make do.”

As she handed over his change, fingertips brushing against the warmth of his hand, she averted her eyes and mumbled, “You make it sound like you think about me a lot.” Just from saying those words, she wanted to recoil and grimace. “N-not that you would—”

“Why wouldn't I?” the blond questioned, pocketing the money and tilting his head to the side, causing golden tresses of hair to fall out of place from his forehead. “It's said that you never quite forget your first love— _especially_ when you're rejected.”

Before she could recover from her bewildered expression and respond, Adrien leaned across and warmth blossomed against her cheeks from what was not her own embarrassment. A strangled noise escaped as he placed a chaste kiss to her flaming cheek, pulling away with a wolfish grin and winking once more. Marinette had simply watched as he cradled the bag against his chest, retrieving the umbrella and exited to brave the cold weather once more.

She couldn't deny the fluttering of her heartbeat, the colour of her face and surely the tips of her ears, too, and the feelings that she'd once felt and smothered for him were resurfacing with a vengeance. Marinette ran a hand shakily through the loose hair of her fringe, running through their conversation once more and trying to take in deep breaths not to overreact, not to listen to the nagging whispers within her head that was insisting the worst would happen.

“I'm not going anywhere,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I'm staying right here.”

-x-

As it turned out, her mother was much happier with overseeing the pâtisserie rather than producing the food by herself. With the new employees understanding their roles, accepting it and the authority that Sabine Cheng needed to have, Marinette was quite happy to hand over the ropes to the newcomers. She'd whispered a few pieces of advice for when her mother was distraught or visibly sad, and they listened happily and said that it was a job that they had been looking for. It had taken two months in the end to sort everything out, and by the time that she'd acquired a part-time job at a café that was nearby her apartment—a short walk, thankfully—her relationship with Adrien had taken a turn.

After the kiss on the cheek, he'd taken to calling her at random times during the evening. Their conversations were much more than asking about each other's days, and Marinette happily told him about the new job that she'd found, any fabric that she'd bought on sale, and even a particularly chubby feline that she'd spotted sunbathing in the street. Their topics were strange, silly, and they laughed for an hour or so each evening before hanging up and pursuing their private time. Adrien hadn't opened up to her about what he wanted his job to be, and it wasn't just her; when she'd gotten together with Alya and Nino one evening, when they'd arrived with bottles of cheap wine that were on special offer to celebrate her seeking her own happiness, they'd remarked that the blond hadn't mentioned anything to them about what he was going to do.

His priority, it seemed, was to live nearby to his friends, which was quite understandable, considering how much travelling he'd done in the past, meaning the amount of time that he'd had to keep away and had been unable to spend time with them. Adrien had refused for any of them to come over to his apartment until it was done, and from the limited information she'd received from Alya, it sounded spacious and bland.

She'd started a small shop online. There were a simple t-shirt designs that she was proud of, and were worth the money to reproduce, and although the orders were slow at first, Marinette enjoyed creating each one with care. The money was little, but when she combined it with the extra from her part-time job, it was working out nicely so she could splurge at the end of the month a little bit.

Adrien continued to call her almost daily, and she found it safe to say that he'd been rewarded the title of closest male friend (much to the chagrin of Nino). The four friends started to have dinners round each other's homes every two weeks, but because Adrien's wasn't ready, still, they swapped between the crowded table and tiny living room of Marinette's and the engaged couple's, each time rolling a dice to decide what type of food they would eat.

And each time they left their home, Adrien insisted on walking Marinette home, stating that his own was nearby and that it was no trouble at all, and kissed her cheek lightly and grinned at her flushed cheeks, never pushing it further than that. It was gentle, sweet, and it seemed that he was testing the waters for far too long of a time, waiting to see whether she'd reject him at the last moment once more. Marinette fully accepted that she'd be lying if she said her heartbeat didn't pick up with each peck, that she didn't still and shuffle in an embarrassed fashion when their hands held for too long, and she felt so fucking juvenile and not at all in control like in her previous relationships.

He flirted, of course. There were sweet comments that caused her to stumble over her words, sometimes messing up the order of her sentences, and the coy smile that showed his dimples seemed to scream that he _knew_ what he was doing to her, and was thoroughly enjoying it.

So, when he called one afternoon, as leaves had began falling from the trees, as she was on her way back from her part-time job with the thin black-coloured shirt clinging to her too tightly, Marinette was surprised when he asked her to come over.

“To your place? Your _home_?” Marinette clarified, the shock clear in her voice. “What's gotten into you?”

“I'm not telling you,” he teased, and she could just picture the knowing smile across his lips. “You'll just have to come here to find out—before those mooches come over for dinner tonight.”

Right, of course; it was their dedicated fortnight dinner, though she'd expected it to be elsewhere, as she'd hosted the previous time. With a bemused expression, Marinette agreed and asked to be sent the directions via message—which he was _still_ really awkward at and it had become a running joke with their friends—and arrive after she'd showered and changed, because as much as he said that he didn't mind, she didn't want to appear smelling distinctly of coffee.

With her hair braided into a single plait, a black-coloured t-shirt with sleeves that cut off at her elbows that was tucked into a sand-coloured skirt, that was buttoned-up at the front and ended above her knees, Marinette walked for ten minutes (surprised that he hadn't lied while saying he lived nearby), and walked up to the neat door that didn't have any chips within the paint.

She restrained a laugh from noticing that the button for his doorbell was a paw print, and wondered whether he'd waited for them come over until it arrived.

The door cracked open, enough for her to see tufts of bright hair and an eye that was darkened from the light peeking through, and she laughed in astonishment as he quickly opened the door, grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside. She didn't trip, thankfully, and shuffled aside and pressed her back against the navy-coloured walls in the hallway as he closed the door quickly. His head whipped around to stare at the end of the hallway, and she briefly wondered whether he'd gone stir crazy from the home that they'd never seen.

“We're safe,” Adrien announced, pushing the blond strands away from his forehead. “I was really worried just then.”

She blinked. “...Right.”

“Okay, big surprise,” he continued, gesturing with his hands to emphasise his excitement in a habit that always appeared when he was happy about the topic, “I've been so _sneaky_.”

Marinette simply nodded and followed him through to what turned out to be the living room, which had dark-stained furniture and a leather couch that looked like it had been scratched at the sides, that was lacking photographs and simply had bookcases filled with countless books, trinkets, and when she caught sight of one shelf she let out a strangled laugh that was believing.

“You kept the pens!”

Raising his eyebrows, Adrien turned to look at her with his arms crossed over his chest. “I couldn't just throw them out. They were a gift.”

“Mostly from Alya,” she pointed out, lips wobbling as she restrained her laughter. It was a sweet move, definitely, and the fact that they were on display within his living room was endearing. “I've got your lollipops in my old room somewhere.”

“See, we're both idiots.”

Marinette grinned, looking around the rest of the room. “I don't know about that—I think it's just you that hasn't grown up and changed.”

“People change through the years, of course,” Adrien commented, coming to stand beside her and bumping his shoulder against her body lightly in a teasing action. “Do you think you'd be the same if everything around you was different?”

Not expecting that response, she stilled. Her mind flickered to the past that she'd squashed, insisting that she needed to throw away and move on rather than mourn the loss of her friend, and the rapid thoughts caused her throat to grow dry, uncomfortable. She shifted on the spot, eyes on his chest rather than the sincere expression that he was surely showing, and wondered when he'd grown to be wise. The male before her was supposed to be the silly, sincere and absolutely sweet friend that comforted her in his own unique way, and somehow he'd managed to cause forgotten feelings to erupt within her chest once more.

“No,” she whispered, voice shaking.

She wasn't the same after. With time she'd grown as a person; she was more confident, had the family that she'd always desired, and the friends that she'd never even imagined having. The Marinette that had appeared all those years ago was a shell of the woman she was at that moment, standing before the one that had caused her to realise it.

She didn't need to mourn, bury, or try and banish her past from her mind. It had shaped her into who she was that day, no matter how much she'd never be able to explain it to another.

With a shy glance at his gentle smile, Marinette reached and intertwined her fingers with his, noting the hardened skin by his knuckles, the warmth of his flesh, and the size difference as he readily shifted their position so they were comfortable. They'd shared farewell embraces at times, or when they were particularly excited about what had happened during their days when they met up for coffee occasionally, but Adrien had stuck true to saying that he wasn't going to actively pursue her just yet. In that moment, as they shared the warmth of their fingertips with shy smiles, she wondered why she'd waited at all.

“Adrien,” Marinette called softly, shifting her body closer so her fabric-clad shoulder was brushing against him. “What are you waiting for?”

There was no exclamation of denial. Instead, the smile across his lips broadened and his free hand began to play with the stray hairs at the nape of his neck in a self-conscious gesture. “I was going to say a green light, but right now seems to clearly be one.”

If their intertwined hands and rosy cheeks weren't confirmation of their shared affections, then she wasn't quite sure what was. “I'm sorry for rejecting you all those years ago,” the dark-haired female confessed tentatively, voice barely audible as she shifted upon her feet. “It... I wasn't in a good place because of what happened, and I pushed you away because of it.”

“You don't need to apologise,” he responded just as quietly. “I shouldn't have pushed you for that.”

Shaking her head, Marinette closed her eyes to take in a shaking breath. “You—Adrien you _never_ pushed me.” With determination, she looked up to meet his gaze, attempting to convey the turmoil of her feelings. “I-I was scared of everyone at first, and you were just... nice.” Everyone who had a counterpart that had been somewhat rude. “Your silly jokes cheered me up when we grew closer, and I was happy to consider you my friend. I'm sorry for hurting your feelings back then.”

“Are you planning on hurting my feelings again?” Adrien questioned instead, thumb tracing soothing patterns into the skin of her hand. At the shake of her head, the pursed lips, and slightly furrowed brow of her expression, he let out a laugh that was more breath than amusement. “I don't see the problem, then. If you'd accepted back then, or had planned to answer when we started education again, I would've only hurt you in return because of my withdrawal.”

It was a fair point. Either they would've been apart from the beginning of their relationship, or it would've never started due to his absence. Gnawing on her lower lip, Marinette grudgingly agreed with his logic with a sour expression, surprised that she'd never thought of it from that point of view since they'd rekindled their friendship.

A surge of emotion ran through her, heat blossoming upon her cheekbones once more, and she squeezed his hand in warning as she said, “I like you.”

The mischievous expression that flickered should've warned her of what was to come. “I like you, too?” Adrien replied purposely, lips quivering from trying not to laugh, and the restrained smile reaching his bright and humorous eyes.

She wanted to groan, run her hands through her hair in frustration and think of a snub that would repay him for the embarrassment she was feeling at that moment. Instead, she settled for blowing air into her cheeks in good humour, eyes narrowed and kicked him lightly on his clothes-clad shin.

Adrien gasped, stumbling forward and almost falling over from the shock, and she danced a few steps away, a safe distance from his fumbling feet, with a victorious smile stretched across her lips. Once it was clear that he had his balance just fine, he placed his free hand dramatically onto his heart and moaned, “Oh, the _pain_.”

“You were making fun of me!”

He sniffed. “I'll have you know that was _hiss-terical_.”

“Your jokes are bad, too!” Marinette countered, undoing their intertwined hands and crossing her arms beneath her bosom in rebellion. “I take it back—I _don't_ like you.”

“Well, fuck,” Adrien cursed, looking down to his fallen hand with a bemused expression. “You can't just retract your confession; I think there's some sort of rule against it, actually.”

She snorted. “I think I can when you respond with really terrible jokes.”

“This really isn't how our first date was supposed to go,” the blond mused, a smile tugging upon his lips. “I'm deeply sorry for my bad sense of humour, Marinette.”

Rather than focusing on his very sarcastic apology, her eyebrows furrowed at the first statement. “Date?” she parroted, taking a step forward so the tips of their shoes were pressing against each other's. “You've never asked me on a date.”

“To be fair, it's not like you've ever asked me out,” Adrien joked, smiling widely at her narrowed eyes. “I—well, it wasn't supposed to come out like this. Alya and Nino aren't coming tonight.”

But it was their designated night to spend time together. She'd already sent a message to her red-headed best friend saying that she was looking forward to their dinner, and had received the reply containing much the same back. Suspicious, she questioned, “Why?”

Adrien blinked. “I want you all to myself, of course.”

“That doesn't automatically make it a date—it has to be established between the two of us; one-sided dates are just a bit weird,” Marinette stated, tilting her head up so she glance at him clearly. “Were you planning on telling me?”

“That I wanted this to be a date? Yes, after a night of some great romancing.” He winked.

Despite the colouring of her face, Marinette was adamant at keeping her disgruntled expression clear; though she was sure he could tell from her complexion and the frantic beating of her heart, especially if they were to embrace each other any time soon. “Great romancing?” she repeated dubiously. “And what, exactly, did you have planned for that?”

She didn't recoil when he reached forward, fingertips caressing against her hand until their digits were intertwined gently once more.

“I was planning on making you your favourite dinner,” Adrien started, voice soft and low. “Then I was going to show you my not-so-successful job since the spare room is set up now.”

Spare room—it required the second bedroom that had probably been converted for some reason, and her curiosity was piqued. Marinette made a noise of approval, not at all doubting that he'd figured her favourite food from their time together (though she couldn't say the same for him—he was still testing new recipes that had been off-limits because of the calorie count previously).

He interrupted her thinking by clearing his throat. “So, what do you say to this being a date?”

“No.” She looked into his ever-green eyes, her wide smile reaching her own and obscuring her vision slightly. “Your teasing was mean—I don't think I want to go on a date with you now.”

A breathy laughed escaped him. “If you're upset, why are you holding my hand?”

She raised an eyebrow, still smiling, and raised their intertwined hands with a dramatically thoughtful expression. After humming audibly, glancing at their hands and nodding her head once, she stated, “Not all of me is upset with you.”

A breath of surprise escaped as he let go of her hand, instead snaking his arms tentatively around her waist and pulling her closer so she was plush against his chest. “Does this mean I'm on a date with your hand only?”

“No,” she replied softly, welcoming the new warmth and the loose embrace that was doing wonders for her pulse. “I suppose you can have all of me.”

His answering smile was almost blinding.

It turned out that the shift behaviour from when she'd entered his home was from a surprise. Marinette had padded towards the kitchen, where there were a few curses being muttered from what she assumed had been cooking, and had been shocked to see the sight of Adrien attempting to stir food within a pan while there was a cat with black-coloured short fur clinging onto his thigh, claws digging into the material of his jeans in an attempt to hang on. She'd laughed abruptly and had to hold onto her side when his answer had been to squawk in pain as the feline attempted to climb further, nails digging into his shirt from there on. It didn't stop until the small creature was setting their paws onto the countertop, an audible purr sounding as they sat down and began to groom.

He'd adopted the kitten, who's named was revealed to be Plagg, two weeks prior and had been attempting to get him settled in before inviting newcomers over. Then she began to see the litter tray that was tucked away in the corner, the toys that were hidden and shoved under furniture, and realise that the scratch marks in his sofa were most likely because of the new addition. Adrien seemed genuinely fond of the feline, and still unsure of how to handle one so he was hesitant to pick him up, even when Plagg climbed him because he was too little to jump onto the counters alone.

After the dinner, which didn't turn out to be a disaster despite her original worries, Adrien had, indeed, converted the second bedroom into something else. She had been surprised at first that he was willing to share the information with her first, and when she stepped inside and saw the two desks, decorated with lamps and pots filled with different utensils, she'd couldn't contain the wide smile across her lips.

He was drawing again.

The picture that Rin had taken of him hadn't changed his feelings for the hobby, even though he'd probably sketched in secret through the years. The drawings weren't quite as crude-looking as they were when they were younger. Adrien willingly showed her a page or two filled with sketches, where half were coloured, and she noticed the charm that he had to his style. He explained that he wanted to illustrate for children's books, and maybe attempt his own story in the future, and flushed a deep red when she complimented his work.

Even though they really did live close by, Adrien still insisted on walking her back to her apartment because it was dark outside. She'd rolled her eyes, shivering from the cold weather once more, and padded through the streets with the lamplights illuminated their way.

They paused outside of her door, and she wondered whether it was appropriate to ask him inside for a hot drink without sounding too suggestive, considering they'd finally dubbed their time together as a date. Marinette glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, taking in sweet smile across his plump lips, the barely there dimples that appeared when he noticed her peek, and the golden-tinged eyelashes that were only just visible from the dim lighting. Her heart raced from admiring him, connecting the attractive appearance to the ridiculous, somewhat funny jokes that he uttered more often than not, and the awkwardness he displayed when he tried to message her rather than talk with his voice, and she found that she really couldn't deny the feelings that she had for him any longer.

“Adrien,” she called, “I like you.”

His grin grew lopsided. “The feeling is very much reciprocated.”

“...Really?” Marinette asked through her disbelieving laugh.

Shrugging his shoulders, Adrien stated, “I like you, too, sounds really similar to earlier, and I don't want to only have future dates with your hand.”

She wanted to bury her hands into her face and sigh loudly at how ridiculous he was. Marinette shook her head, rolling her eyes when they glanced at each other once more, and she waited for the ritual kiss on her cheek. As he understood her intention, the blond beamed, and leaned down so the top of her head was no longer brushing his chin in height. When his lips were about to connect with her warm cheek, Marinette turned her head sharply and firmly pressed her lips to his, applying the pressure to make sure it was known that it wasn't an accident as her eyes fluttered shut.

It seemed that the movement was what he'd been waiting for all along. Adrien didn't recoil, gasp, or seem visibly shocked by the change, as if he'd been patient and silently asking for her to take the step when she was comfortable. And as she gripped onto the material of his shirt, one of his hands caressed the flesh of her neck, fingertips trailing and intertwining with the tufts of hair by the nape of her neck. Their lips moved clumsily at first, though never clashing teeth or accidentally nipping each other, and she shuffled closer so their chests were almost touching, her head tilting back to allow better access.

Her pulse sounded loudly in her head, and warmth spiralled within her abdomen as their kiss furthered, growing more confident with their movements and not quite as tentative any more. It wasn't bruising, demanding or overzealous, though, and she didn't feel pressured nor embarrassed by her actions. A hum of appreciation and approval escaped as he nipped her lower lip, smoothing the sudden sensation with more kisses. His fingers playing with the hairs by her neck trailed to cradle her jaw instead, his thumb tracing soft patterns into her skin, that were very comforting, as he tentatively licked against her reddened lower lip in a silent question.

On the tips of her toes, Marinette accepted the advance with a hushed moan that was swallowed by their movements, and the warmth within her abdomen spiralled down further, connecting with the thundering pulse between her legs that was begging for attention. Their movements were somewhat awkward and cautious as their kiss deepened, and she was sure the tips of her ears were burning by that point, and the hushed breaths that were escaping the two of them were muffling most other noises.

As their kiss slowed down, becoming somewhat lazy, they pulled away with panted breaths, and Marinette leaned forward to place a chaste peck to his swollen lips once more before jumping a few steps away to restrain herself from continuing further.

The blush across his cheeks, the reddened lips that were shining despite the dim lighting, and the wrinkle within his shirt were purely her doing, and knowing that caused her to smile brightly and proclaim, “Our future dates will definitely be with all of me.”

-x-

They started dating after their third date, which had resulted in Nino barging into Adrien's home, a bewildered expression appearing when he realised that the blond wasn't alone—and if that wasn't enough, the fact that they'd been intertwined on the couch, busying themselves kissing, meant that Nino ran away and told Alya immediately, so it resulted in a lot of flushed cheeks and teasing. Alya had raved about how long it had taken them, offended that they hadn't mentioned how well their first date had gone instantly, and Marinette just groaned into her open palms and waited for the make-shift speech to be over.

As they spent more time together, she noticed that there were still fans that recognised him on the street. Sometimes they asked for autographs, while at other occasions they simply questioned whether it was really him, since there were rumours that he was busy in another country, or something else that was utterly ridiculous. They alternated between their homes a few times a week, spending a few days apart so they still had separate time, and before long she had left spare clothing over at his house, and Adrien had bought another toothbrush. It was a bubbly pink-coloured thing, which looked very ridiculous, and she'd responded by buying an over-the-top superhero one for him at hers.

And then, three months into their relationship where it was almost the winter holiday, Marinette noticed that they had a little follow when Adrien escorted her back to her apartment for the evening. The weather was low enough to see mist-like puffs when they breathed, but no snow had fallen onto the streets just yet. They had been walking close together when she heard the tell-tale high-pitched noise behind them, not quite associating it with a particular feline until it grew louder, closer to them, and a dark body darted through Adrien's legs mid-step and caused him to stumble forward. With a gasp, the blond fell comically to the floor—causing Plagg to hiss in surprise and run back in the direction of home—and Marinette was almost dragged to the pavement, too, by their clasped hands. She steadied herself at the last moment, but the same couldn't be said about Adrien; he was pushing himself up from his knees, cheeks stained pink from embarrassment rather than the weather, and wiping the dirt from his clothing once he was standing.

She'd laughed heartily, much to his amusement, and they were more alert in the future to see whether they had a companion on their journey. The fact that the mischievous feline had warmed up to her at all was a blessing, especially since he usually darted away from Nino's attempts at friendship.

When Adrien's father hadn't contacted him after the new year began, Marinette had been there in silent understanding. She squeezed his hand, peppered kisses against his skin, and wished to convey that she knew what it was like to have a parent that was never quite there, but the words had dried on her tongue and never made it out. So, instead, she tried her best to make him smile, even if she had to resort to the awful jokes that he was ever-so-fond of.

He'd originally wanted to celebrate the date that they met again, but changed his mind saying that it felt too strange because it was supposed to be a time of mourning. Adrien mentioned the Chloé he knew in childhood that day, mumbling idly as he stroked Plagg, that she hadn't always been an awful person. She had been naïve, silly and amusing when they were just out of their toddler years, and she was surprised to hear the story and not be able to connect how Chloé's personality had changed so drastically; after all, she managed to see the early signs of abuse in her own childhood relationship with Rien.

Adrien gathered the courage to post his own comic online by the time spring came. The response had been slow, but with every comment or anonymous praise, he beamed with happiness and proudly showed them to her, animatedly talking about which part they were referring to. And as he started to become more popular, Marinette's online boutique had much the same success. There were countless orders, and she constantly had to say there would be a delay before she could restock her inventory. Her most foolish decision had been attempting to sew within Adrien's living room, as the thread had rustling fabric had attracted Plagg's attention and ended up on the receiving end of his claws.

Mid-spring brought a big surprise, though. They were seated on the sofa within her cheap apartment, television on for background noise, and staring at their cell phones in confusion. They should've expected it to come someday, but they had become too accustomed to how things were at that moment.

“I can't believe it,” Marinette remarked. “It's really happening.”

Adrien had much the same response. “...I know.”

“It's been five years!” she exclaimed incredulously, gesturing wildly to the device in her hands. “And they didn't even tell it to us verbally!”

On their illuminated screens was a message stating that Alya and Nino were marrying in the upcoming months, out of nowhere, and contained an attachment picture of the two of them smiling widely, cheeks pressed against each other. They had been engaged since they were nineteen, and the sudden news was equally good as it was bewildering. They had constantly shrugged off the questions of when they were going to finalise their relationship, sometimes making jokes that they wanted to wear ridiculous outfits and never quite agreed on them.

“Well, they've got the right idea,” Adrien mused, snapping her from her thoughts. With a lazy grin across his lips, he stretched an arm dramatically and placed it across her shoulders, pulling her into an awkward embrace where she was bunched against his chest with her cell phone pressed against her own. “They're really good for each other.”

Poking him lightly in the ribs, making his body shudder with laughter, she leaned forward to place her device onto the coffee table, out of the way. “Well, yes,” the dark-haired female readily agreed, wrapping an arm around his abdomen and placing her head against his chest in a more comfortable position. “I suppose it was nice that they warned us before everyone else. It would've been awkward if we didn't know and then received questions.”

“I'm actually surprised that didn't happen.” Adrien snorted.

She hummed, shifting her head for a comfier position. “They had mercy on us for once.”

His fingers were playing with her hair soothingly, and she closed her eyes against his chest and enjoyed the feeling. They had a peaceful silence, filled with affectionate brushes, until Adrien interrupted softly with, “I have a question.”

“Shoot,” Marinette murmured, not bothering to pull away with his chest and the fingertips within her hair. After a few moments had passed and he hadn't said anything, though, she did lift herself up, sitting up properly upon the couch with furrowed eyebrows. “Adrien?” she called, noting the blush across his cheeks and the free hand that was touching the nape of his neck in a self-conscious gesture. She gently wrapped her hand around his wrist, pulling it away and causing him to look her straight in the eyes.

She could hear him gulp.

“Do you want to get married?”

Out of all the things she'd expected him to say, that hadn't been on the list at all. Marinette blinked, not quite comprehending what he'd said at first. “... _What_?”

“Do you— _would_ you want to marry me?” he continued, wetting his lips nervously afterwards.

“Of course,” Marinette blurted, releasing his wrist with flaming cheeks. “I—what kind of question is that, Adrien? You know I love you.”

The smile reached his bright emerald eyes, the blush on his cheeks almost reaching his barely there dimples. “Great!” he responded happily, wrapping his arms around her once more, pulling her into his chest as she released a breath of surprise. “I forgot the ring, though. I wasn't expecting it to happen like this.”

Just like he hadn't expected their first date to begin as it had. “You already bought a ring without knowing if I wanted to marry you?” she enquired incredulously. “You idiot.” She rubbed her cheek against him as she embraced him back, squeezing tightly. “We haven't even been dating for a year yet.”

“I don't see your point,” Adrien replied, hand gently placed upon the crown of her head and ruffling the hairs further out of the original style. “And I never said when I was going to propose, especially since I need some elaborate plan to do so.”

She laughed against his chest. “You do not.”

“Oh, I do.” The smile was clear in his voice, and she hugged him tighter, attempting to cause the laughter that spilled from his lips to stutter. “I think my ultimate plan will be to stitch the question onto a sweater and make Plagg wear it.” His chest vibrated with his guffaws, and she couldn't help but snort at the ludicrous idea. “Maybe I'll somehow put the ring on his collar—you'd have so much fun trying to get it.”

Sighing, Marinette shook her head frantically. “Your idea of fun is really warped, Adrien.”

“Fine.” He flicked her head, and she laughed aloud in response. “I'll think of something equally amusing, then you'll have no choice but be mine fur-ever.”

As much as she wanted to restrain her amusement from his ridiculous statement, simply because of the joke at the end, the laughter spilled out and she shook within his arms, punching his chest lightly in retaliation. “I'd rather just accept now to spare myself the future pain!”

“ _Pain_?” Adrien parroted, sounding affronted. “Maybe I need to find someone who'll appreciate me for what I am.”

“A total dork,” she replied fondly, a hand reaching up to ruffle his hair teasingly.

With narrowed eyes, Adrien glared down at her, their faces hovering inches away from each other from her taunting actions, and she grinned wickedly and pushed herself up, connecting their lips with a happy hum. He didn't pretend to stay irritated for longer, instead one arm snaking around her waist to support her, while his other hand was playing with the hairs on the nape of her neck fondly. Her smile was surely felt through the kiss, and when he responded with a forceful movement, she laughed openly when she sucked in a brief breath. The noise of amusement was swallowed and muffled by their kiss, and she gripped the material of his shirt happily as they continued.

With practised movements that had came from their nights together, they split apart after a chaste kiss to each other's lips once more and crossed the apartment until they were in Marinette's bedroom, the door closing behind them (a habit from not wanting a feline companion during their private time).

Adrien placed feather-light kisses to her neck, teasing around the area of her jugular and breathing on the exposed skin to cause shivers to run through her, as he undid the buttons of her shirt. And she began with his belt, the article of clothing falling to the floor as the cold air flooded against her chest after her shirt had been tossed aside. Soon, the rest of their clothing had been removed, and she laid back onto the mattress with ease, adjusting her position so the blond could climb on top of her, legs comfortably between her own.

Marinette hummed happily, hands winding in the golden tresses of his hairs, noting the softness and the sheer amount she could grip onto without causing him pain. A laugh escaped as he nipped her earlobe teasingly, shivering at the ticklish sensation, and playfully pushed against his chest while squirming from surprise. It was a reaction that always amused him, and it was no different that time; Adrien laughed against her neck, placing pecks along his way across her jawline, purposefully missing her mouth before kissing the tip of her nose.

She huffed.

And as he pulled back and grinned happily at his accomplishments, she tugged lightly at his hair before she was aware of feather-light traces across her skin, his fingertips making their way past her navel, searching for the location of her wildly beating pulse. She wetted her lips, allowing herself to lift her body briefly to kiss his lips in appreciation, knowing that she couldn't hold the position for long. And so, she settled down onto the mattress, head cushioned by the pillows, and bit prematurely into her lower lip as his hand dipped lower.

The heat within her abdomen stirred, crashing and connecting with the untameable pulse between her legs. His actions weren't teasing for too long; brushing against her protrusion on purpose, causing a gasp to escape that only made him smile wider, Marinette shifted her hips as a single digit delved further tentatively, the tell-tale noises of her arousal sounding and assuring him that the attraction was very much reciprocated. The sensations caused her chest to heave with each breath, one of her arms reaching up and clutching onto the pillow as she rocked her hips in unison with his steady pace. And as a low moan built within her throat, Adrien gently added another finger, causing her to hum in appreciation to her movements.

As his movements grew more confident, he leaned down and loving placed a kiss to her lips, and she readily accepted while wrapping her arms around his neck. His wrist was rubbing against her protrusion with every action, and her heavy breaths of appreciation were muffled by his reddened lips. When his fingertips brushed against the bundle of nerves within her, her muscles tensed suddenly, her brow furrowed in restrained pleasure, and her nails dug into the skin of his back, not quite damaging the flesh with her grip. The added pleasure, along with the slight pang from the stretching of his fingers, meant that her pulse was craving more, and the heated flesh that was pressed against her own felt _great—_

Her toes curled.

A groan of disappointment escaped as Adrien pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, fingers retreating and discreetly wiped out of her vision. When they made eye contact—her burning cheeks surely contrasting greatly with her cerulean irides—she noted the flesh across his cheeks, the swollen lips that were purely her doing, along with the dips and curves of his body that were fully on display from the lack of clothing, and the lamp that had been hastily turned on beside them. When she realised that she'd been staring with a dazed expression, Marinette shook her head and looked up to catch his gaze.

He winked.

There were shadows created by his golden-tinged eyelashes as he retrieved his trousers, collecting an item from the pocket. Marinette busied herself by rearranging the pillows as there was the crinkling of foil, and she pointedly scooted over so she was sat beside him by the edge, feet connecting with the ground as she placed soft kisses onto the warm skin of his exposed shoulder.

Adrien looked pleasantly surprised when she tilted her head to the side, and he grinned widely as he positioned himself how she was earlier; back against the mattress, cushions spread around his head, and he tugged her by the wrist so she fell on top of his chest, rather than the seductive move she had planned all along. She huffed, brushing the hair from her face so she could see while pushing herself up, cheeks colouring further from the vibration of his body, the muffled laughter from the blond attempting to smother it into the pillow.

She pinched his side.

Sitting herself on top of his legs, feeling the heated flesh against her as she shifted her hips for a better position, Marinette made sure her knees were steady on either side as she kneeled, biting into her lip nervously. She grasped onto his member as she placed her free hand onto his chest, to make sure she wouldn't fall, and made it so he pushed gently against her entrance, the slick flesh allowing entrance allowing access easily, due to his earlier ministrations. Marinette kept her teeth snagged into her swollen lip, eyes closed firmly, to muffle the low moan that escaped, the odd feeling of discomfort apparent as she felt the strain as she pushed herself down fully.

He wasn't impatient, though. Adrien didn't push her to move too soon, so the dark-haired female was able to adjust to the change, hands both placed onto his abdomen and opened her blurry eyes to see him—the gentle smile that showed his almost there dimples, the disarray of golden hair on his head, and just seeing him was a reassurance that he was the one she wanted to be with.

Her fingernails curled into his skin, creating tiny half-moon indents, as she lifted herself up cautiously, and his hands caressed the skin of her hips soothingly, easing her through her movements. Their breaths became louder with every movement, and as the seconds ticked by filled with the sounds of their gasps and the noise of her slow, but steady, pace of her hips.

The grip of her hips became tighter as she gathered her confidence, pushing the free strands of dark hair away from her face as she shifted her hips. Her movements were no longer hesitant or cautious, and she was fully aware of the thundering pulse within her head with every passing moment.

She moaned his name.

Adrien began to push her hips, too, resulting in the thrusts to be more forceful than before, and the resulting moans that were coaxed from both of them were almost sinful. And as she leaned forward, no longer trusting herself to stay upright on her knees, she tucked the tangled hairs behind her ears and placed her hands on either side of his head, smiling right back when Adrien grinned at the position change. He shifted his hips as well, allowing her to somewhat fall on top of him as the ache became clear in her thighs, and the angle change caused her to gasp loudly as he brushed against a bundle of nerves inside.

With each roll of his hips, his pelvis rubbed against her protrusion to provide further pleasure, and her breaths were ragged and harsh, interrupted at times for her to whisper his name in prayer. The moans that escaped him were utterly attractive, and the low and hoarse voice when he spoke her name simply caused her arousal to spike further.

And soon, there was babbling nonsense leaving her that was no quite his name nor a moan, and her eyes were firmly closed as she felt herself teetering along the edge of pleasure. With the precise movement of his hips, her muscles shuddered around him—causing a low moan to escape from her clenching—and panted. He rutted against her, experiencing much the same soon after, and she turned her head to place gentle kisses onto his jawline as he shuddered.

When she'd regained her strength and sat up, Marinette winced and tentatively lifted herself up, noting the low hiss that the blond released as she did so. She rolled onto the mattress beside him with a wide smile, watching as she cleaned up quickly after recovering, though their breaths were still heaved.

“You probably look really smug right now,” he murmured hoarsely, tossing the bundled tissue into the bin. “Isn't that supposed to be my job?”

She didn't restrain her grin. “You were the one that was planning on leaving me.”

“No.” Adrien shook his head, settling down against the pillows beside her. “You were being mean, that's all.”

“Mean?” she queried, shuffling closer so she could bump her nose against his. “I just don't want you to propose weirdly.”

He narrowed his eyes, eyelashes obscuring her close view of his emerald irides. “I'm going to think of something amazing, and you'll have to apologise for your doubt.”

“I'd _really_ rather just accept now, ring or not.” She shrieked in surprise as a pillow was thrown into her face, his laughter sounding as she scrambled to pull the fabric away from her. With a scowl, she shoved it against his chest and scooted away, creating distance between them. “Hey!”

Adrien laughed still, voice shaking as he said, “That's far too anti-climatic for me.”

“Fine.” Marinette sniffed. “Will you marry me, Adrien?”

There was a few moments of silence as he simply stared at her, not comprehending her words, before he attempted to reach for the pillow once more. With quick reflexes, Marinette grabbed it first and hugged it against her chest for protection, but instead a different one was thrown against her face once more, and a loud breath of surprise escaped.

“No!” Adrien retorted, pushing the pillow away from her face. She blinked to adjust to the sudden light again, noting that he was sitting up and looking down at her with narrowed eyes. “Unless you've got a ring stashed somewhere here, you should let me use mine.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Let's use my proposal and your ring instead.”

“I will not.” He crossed his arms stubbornly.

“Adrien!” Marinette exclaimed, sitting up and shivering as the cold air connected with her once more exposed skin. She quickly pounced, her chest colliding with his and making them fall down against the mattress. “Marry me.”

He wrapped his arms around her, despite the teasing scowl across his face. “And _this_ is better than my sweater proposal? Absolutely ridiculous.”

“How is it not?” Marinette replied, grinning happily as she nuzzled against his neck. “This one includes naked cuddles, rather than your stubborn kitten dressed in clothing.”

She could feel his chest move as he breathed.

“...I see your point,” Adrien finally announced after humming in contemplation. Grinning widely, Marinette tightened her grip to squeeze, conveying her happiness, but that was ruined when he opened his mouth to continue, “But I think I can still top this.”

The next pillow to be thrown was by her, and he readily accepted his fate and allowed it to hit him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com) ♥～('▽^人)


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